


Way down we go

by Yukichouji



Category: Archie Comics & Related Fandoms, Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Archie Andrews Being an Asshole, Archie/Veronica only mentioned, Blood, Branding, Bruises, Episode Related, Episode: s03e07 There will be blood, Episode: s03e08 Outbreak, F/M, Hurt!Archie, Hurt!Jughead, I named Hiram's new henchman Augustine, Lots of Angst, Lots of Hurt, Lots of Jughead whump, M/M, Moral Dilemmas, No graphic het anywhere, Other charakters mentioned, Poor kids, Protective Archie Andrews, Riverdale's bad parenting deserves its own warning, Spoilers for anything before that, The non-con is not between Archie and Jughead, Unhealthy Relationships, and selfish, but not a lot, i still suck at tagging, just because, lots of guilt, there's some comfort after all, very little comfort, way more jarchie snuck into this than was originally intended
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-21
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 21:21:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 37,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21515581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yukichouji/pseuds/Yukichouji
Summary: “Or we could stay and fight.”, he says, squaring his shoulders and his jaw, widening his stance and balling his hands into fists. “This is our chance to end this, Jug. Hiram is here. We’re never going to get this close to him again.”“What? No!”, Jughead looks at him like he just lost his mind, and maybe Archie has, a little, but that doesn’t mean that what he’s proposing doesn’t make sense. He looks around, eyes hurriedly scanning the barn for potential weapons and landing on a huge pair of shears.ORThe one where Archie and Jughead don't get away in time and Hiram does catch up with them after all.
Relationships: Archie Andrews/Jughead Jones, Archie Andrews/Veronica Lodge, Jughead Jones/Other(s)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 103





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> In case you hadn't guessed from looking at the tags and the warnings, this is a rough one. I have no idea how I managed to turn this into a 25k plus words monstrosity, but here we are... 
> 
> Please be safe and don't read if this is not your cup of tea. And don't try any of this at home, kids.
> 
> Not all warnings apply to all chapters.
> 
> I have about 95% of this fic done so far and am feeling confident enough that I'll finish this to finally start posting. Everything after this chapter still needs to be proof read, so I'm not making any promises as to when I'll be able to update. I will do my best, though. Even if I hate proofing my own stuff.
> 
> And, yes, I am aware of how horrid my writing is, but if there's just one person out there, who ends up enjoying this, all the time and effort gone into the creating of this monster will have been more than worth it. 
> 
> Comments are always appreciated <3
> 
> Now enough of my babbling and on to the good stuff. ~

~*~*~

Archie doesn’t remember who started it, not clearly anyway, he thinks he might have been the one to cross that last bit of distance between them, but he can’t be sure. He does, however, remember _how_ it started.

He remembers the near total darkness of the dilapidated, abandoned hut in the forest near the train tracks that first week out on the road. He remembers his own restlessness, being unable to shake his demons long enough to fall asleep and keeping Jughead up by proxy. He remembers thinking of Ronnie, the softness of her touch, the swell of her lips, the horrible way it hurt him still to think that he might never see her again.

He remembers that need growing in him like a vicious, steadily spreading poison, the need to feel something, anything other than the ceaseless ache of loss. Then turning around and having Jughead right there, only inches away in his own sleeping bag, quiet and tired and worried. So close, the way they used to be when they were little, when the world was still big and round and beautiful and they hadn’t figured out yet that not every good-bye meant it would be followed by a reunion.

Back, when they’d been so close it was like they were practically living inside of each others head’s, when sometimes it felt like he couldn’t tell where he himself ended and where Jughead began. A world in which they weren’t side by side, always, unimaginable.

And yet, so much had happened since then, so much had been lost. Right in that moment he’d felt himself yearning for those days back, for their comfort and simplicity, so badly it made his bones ache. And maybe Jughead had felt it, too, or maybe all he’d seen was the look in Archie’s eyes. The important part was, that he’d never so much as tried to push Archie away.

One moment they were staring at each other in the dark, the next they were kissing, lips locked and clinging like two drowning men reaching for a lifeline but finding only each other. Unable to tell which one of them had moved forward first. Archie remembers fucking his tongue into Jughead’s mouth, pushing at his shoulder until the other boy yielded and Archie could roll on top of him, struggling to slip free from his own sleeping back.

The way Jughead’s hands had clung to the front of Archie’s t-shirt, desperate for something to hold onto. The sounds Jughead had made in the back of his throat, small and helpless, when Archie fisted a hand into his hair and tugged, just this side of too rough, to hold him where Archie wanted him. The way Jughead had arched into Archie’s touch, panting helplessly, moist little puffs of air against Archie’s lips, when Archie reached between them and slid his palm down to cup Jughead through his boxers and sweats.

Holding Jughead down, crushed beneath Archie’s weight, until he came with the sweetest little gasp of surprise, just from Archie touching him, a wet spot soaking through the fabric of his trousers. And Archie pulling back, after, leaving Jughead alone on his sleeping bag, panting and confused, not wanting to be touched in return.

Pretending not to see the hurt that flitted across Jughead’s face when Archie crept back into his own space and turned his back on him. Then falling asleep to the sound of Jughead’s slowly calming breathing, still half hard in his slacks but not caring.

Neither of them spoke about it the next day. Jughead looked like he wanted to, for a moment, but Archie plowed on, cutting him off and Jughead followed his lead like he used to when they were little, like he could still read Archie the same way even after all those years and everything that had happened between them.

It could have stopped at that, a one time thing, a momentary laps in judgment on Archie’s side, done with and forgotten, but it didn’t. Archie couldn’t help but come back for more and they developed a sad sort of rhythm. Something Archie could ignore, could deny existed in the light of day, but found himself straying back to under the dubious cover of night.

Every time he reached out to touch Jughead in the dark, he half expected Jug to shove him away or to pull back, but he never did. He just clung to Archie, let Archie take whatever he wanted or needed and kept quiet when Archie pulled away after, unable to look him in the eye, unable to want Jughead to touch him in return. Even though Archie knows Jughead must hate it.

Even now, two and a half weeks into their grand escape, two and a half weeks on the road together, Archie can see the cracks forming on the surface, the lines of tension beneath Jughead’s skin growing more prominent as they go, even if he tries to hide it. It should make Archie feel guilty, doing this to Jughead, but somehow, all he feels his empty, hollowed out like a discarded ice cream wrapper.

He makes a feeble attempt or two to do the right thing, to make Jughead go back to his life, his home, everything he left behind for Archie, but Jughead refuses every time. Like he owes Archie anything at all, when in reality it’s Archie who owes him everything. But the longer it lasts, the more Archie has the urge to break away, to let go of this twisted thing that’s growing between them like a cancer. What he longs for, more than anything, is a quiet place to settle down, a place where he can lose himself in the mundane proceedings of everyday life at the quiet edges of the world and slowly but surely begin to forget who he used to be and what he left behind. Nothing there to keep reminding him of his past failings. A fresh start, a clean slate.

And then, they come upon the farm.

Jughead is reluctant, wants to keep on moving, doesn’t trust the peaceful facade of the place, maybe. But there’s something about it that calls to Archie in a way he just can’t explain and there’s that want again, that terrible pull, only he’s not looking at Jughead this time, he’s looking at Laurie and Gracie, two girls on their own with an entire farm to take care of, an emptiness into which Archie fits perfectly.

And so what, if he kind of likes the way Laurie looks at him? Like all she sees is a guy, who’s fallen on hard times and is willing to put in the work where it’s needed without asking for much in return, instead of everything he’s running from. If this isn’t the chance at a fresh start he’s been so desperately longing for, then he doesn’t know what is. They’ve been on the road for long enough, put enough miles between themselves and Riverdale that here, he can finally feel its weight begin to lift off of his shoulders.

That night, as they lay next to each other in the barn, a soft sliver of moonlight flowing in from the window, painting a line between their receptive bales of straw, Archie doesn’t reach out to breach the gap. He can feel Jughead waiting, holding his breath, but Archie just closes his eyes and pretends he doesn’t. Pretends like it’s no big deal to end this thing now, to move on like none of it ever happened.

It doesn’t take him long to fall asleep, even though Jughead is restless next to him.

~*~*~

In the morning, he wakes with the first rays of the sun, feeling more rested, lighter, than he has in a long time.

He gets up and pulls on his shoes, Jughead still fast asleep, and he leaves Jughead behind as he goes out to take care of the hay, like he promised Laurie he would.

He has breakfast with the girls, feeling a little guilty that Jughead is missing it, but the notion fades out quickly enough, once he starts working. Archie is no stranger to manual labor, all those hours spent at construction sites with his dad over past summers, and he falls into the soothing rhythm of it effortlessly. His mind finally empty of anything but the motions his body goes through, the hot sun in his face, the sweat on his back, the slight morning breeze and the strangely soothing smell of fresh hay.

That’s how Jughead finds him, brows furrowed and mouth an unhappy line. Still trying to get Archie to leave with him and for a moment, Archie resents him for not seeing what this place means to Archie. For being selfish, when in truth it’s Archie whose been selfish this entire time and Jughead has done everything he could to bend to Archie’s needs and never asked for a thing in return.

And still, all Archie wants to do is push him away further.

When Jughead leaves to explore the small town half a mile out, Archie thinks about what it would be like, if Jughead just decided not to come back, to move on without him. The thought causes a small pang of hurt, but it also brings relief and something inside of Archie twists up painfully at the unfairness of that. He shakes his head and keeps on working, until all he can feel is the pleasant and familiar ache in his muscles.

~*~*~

He regrets that thought, more than anything, when he comes to later, tied-up and gagged and an ache throbbing insistently out from the side of his head. When he realizes that Laurie betrayed him and that all it had taken to burst the fantasy he’d built up around this place like a bubble was one mention of his real name. He just feels so fucking stupid.

That’s what he gets for entertaining the illusion that he could get away with wanting even a shred of normalcy, of peace, he thinks bitterly. And he doesn’t even know how he fucked it up this time.

When Jughead creeps in through the side door of the barn, coming back for him, like he always does, no matter how shitty Archie treats him, Archie feels a heavy wave of guilt well up and he has to swallow around it thickly. It mixes weirdly with the rush of relief that accompanies it and it makes him feel a little dizzy when Jughead hurries over and pulls the gag from his mouth.

“What the Hell is going on?” Archie breathes and Jughead scrunches up his face at him, while hastily working on the rest of Archie’s bindings.

“Shouldn’t I be the one to ask _you_ that?” Jughead’s voice is hushed and low and Archie gives him a one-shouldered shrug.

“I don’t know, man. One minute I decide Laurie’s safe and I tell her my name and why we’re on the run, the next she hits me over the head with an honest to God frying pan and I wake up trussed-up like a thanksgiving turkey.”

“You did _what_?” Jughead sounds exasperated, tossing the last bit of rope to the side and helping Archie to his feet. “At least that explains why Hiram Lodge just pulled up outside and is having a chat with Laurie in the yard. Apparently this whole damn town belongs to him. All of the men are off working for him, building his prison slash drug factory, from what I’ve gathered. He practically turned this place into a ghost town.”

I t takes Archie a moment to comprehend what Jughead just said, frozen to the spot when Jughead is already turning to the exit, prepared to  run . 

“Hiram is here?”, he asks dumbly, mouth dry. They’ve been running for _weeks_ , putting mile after mile between themselves and the man in black, trying to escape his reach and the moment Archie thinks he’s found a place he could settle down, Hiram is right there on his heals. Ready to destroy everything with a flick of his fingers. It’s devastating in a way Archie has trouble explaining.

“We need to go _now._ ” Jughead urges, when he realizes that Archie isn’t moving. 

They could, Archie thinks, but there’s another possibility forming in his head, one born from anger and despair, bringing with it a sort of clarity Archie hasn’t felt in a long while.

“Or we could stay and fight.”, he says, squaring his shoulders and his jaw, widening his stance and balling his hands into fists. “This is our chance to _end this_ , Jug. Hiram is _here_. We’re never going to get this close to him again.”

“What? No!”, Jughead looks at him like he just lost his mind, and maybe Archie has, a little, but that doesn’t mean that what he’s proposing doesn’t make sense. He looks around, eyes hurriedly scanning the barn for potential weapons and landing on a huge pair of shears.

That’ll do, Archie decides and hurries to grab them from their hook on the wall, snapping them open and closes once to test them.

“Archie!” Jughead hisses at him, looking like he’s starting to panic now. “You don’t know what you’re saying! It’s four against two. We’re both out-manned _and_ out-gunned. We don’t stand a chance! This isn’t the time or the place.”

“We can catch them by surprise, ambush them.” Archie shoots back, moving to the barn’s sliding doors, positioning himself so that he’ll be able to catch whoever comes through them first from the side. With every second that ticks by, his resolve hardens, adrenaline rising like a drug. This is his one chance to be free of Hiram’s hold for good. If he doesn’t take it, he’ll spend the rest of his probably short life on the run, regretting it, and he just doesn’t think he’s got that in him.

J ughead  hastens over, eyes desperate and pleading  as he grabs at Archie’s arms, tries to get him to drop the shears . “What are you going to do, Arch?  _Kill_ him? We’re going to die  here , if we don’t leave  _right now._ ”

“You can go, if you want to.” Archie presses out and shoves Jughead hard enough to make hims stumble back to the other side of the sliding doors. Through the small slit between the doors he can see Hiram talking to Laurie, moving closer. “But I’m staying.”

“What would Veronica say, if you killed him now?” Jughead whispers frantically, hurt clear on his face and gaze darting back and forth between Archie and their only exit route. “Do you really think she’d ever forgive you?”

And yeah, Jughead must really be at the end of his rope, if he’s bringing up Veronica.  Those are the big guns, the ones Jughead knows Archie has no choice put to react to.  And it actually does work,  almost .  Her name is enough to make him pause, to make him falter, if only for a moment.  Archie doesn’t know, if she’d ever be able to forgive him, but even if she spends the rest of her life hating him, she’d still be safer without Hiram around.  In the end, the thought only  serves to  strengthen his resolve.

He’s so lost in the moment, senses honed completely onto the approaching figure of Hiram Lodge on the other side of the barn’s sliding doors, adrenaline rising with every passing second and giving him that deep sort of calm he only ever feels right before a fight, that he doesn’t notice until it’s too late.

Until there’s the metallic click of a gun’s safety being unlocked somewhere behind them and a voice, only familiar in its hard tone has both of their heads snap around reflexively. “Drop the shears and step away form the door.”

There’s no doubt that the goon belongs with Hiram, with his expensive suit and shined shoes. Andre’s replacement, probably. He’s holding a sleek nine-millimeter in his right hand, steadily trained at Archie and he holds himself with the stiff posture of a man who’s been through the military, exuding quiet power and authority. A man you don’t mess with, if you know what’s good for you. He must have circled around and crept in through the side of the barn while he and Jughead were arguing.

Archie’s heart sinks, stomach dropping out as he lets go of the shears and takes a step away from the doors. The shears land on the ground with a defeated thud, useless.

“Raise your hands.”, the goon orders and Archie and Jughead both comply. Jughead’s eyes are wide and panicky, darting all over the place, like he’s still looking for an out, when Archie already knows that they’ve lost. He fucked up so badly and now they’re both going to pay the price for it. He wants to scream out his impotent rage, wants to charge and maim and fight his way out of this, but Hiram’s lackey switches the aim of his gun from Archie to Jughead, waves for him to come over and the fight trains out of Archie all at once.

The guy jerks Jughead around, shoves at him until he stumbles to his knees at the guy’s feet, then fists a hand into the collar of Jughead’s Sherpa jacket and presses the mouth of his gun to the back of Jughead’s head. The silent threat enough to keep Archie frozen to the spot, blood draining form his face. Jughead stares up at him, eyes wide, breathing unevenly, lips pressed into a tight, bloodless line and body rigid with fear. And all Archie can think is _I did this, this is all my fault._

The door to the barn slides open and first Hiram then Laurie with her rifle in hand step in. Laurie startles at the sight of them, probably still expecting Archie to be tied up and alone the way she left him, but Hiram’s smile just broadens as he takes them in. Eyes sliding first over Archie and then to Jughead, on his knees, and Archie just wants to punch the smugness off of his face so badly it hurts.

“We finally meet again, Archie.” Hiram says, soft and civilized like he’s some sort of Bond villain, and raises his hands in a false show of manners. Always with that hint of danger just beneath the surface, like his fine suits and his expensive haircut just barely contain the dark threat of violence that lies beneath. “You must have known I’d catch up with you eventually. There’s no-where you can run that I won’t find you.”

Archie presses his lips into a tight line and swallows down his retort, silently stares back at the man, who took everything he loved from him and is angling for more, won’t be done until Archie is dead and buried in the ground. With Hiram the one, who put him there.

“And you’re not alone, either.”, Hiram continues, uncaring of Archie’s attitude. “I should have known that I’d find the two of you together once word of Mr. Jones’ disappearance came to me. Still, what a pleasant surprise.”

“Jug’s got nothing to do with this!”, Archie bursts out. “You’ve got me. Isn’t that enough? Let him go and I swear I won’t even put up a fight.”

“Ach!”, Jughead hisses, but Archie ignores him, keeps his eyes trained on Hiram instead.

Hiram actually has the gall to laugh at Archie, pleasantly amused. “Oh, Archie. You really don’t understand a thing, do you? Originally, I was just going to kill you and be done with it, go back to more important matters, but _this_? This is an opportunity too good to pass up even for me. I did make you a promise, after all.”

Hiram looks around for a moment, rubbing his hands together absentmindedly, thinking and Archie can’t help the way his stomach twists, dread rising.

“What?” He asks, afraid of the answer all the same.

“Oh, you don’t remember?”, Hiram steps up to Archie, and even though Archie is taller than him it still feels like Hiram is looking down on him, a hardness in his eyes Archie knows now to fear. “When your friends broke you out of prison I made you a promise, that I’d find out who was responsible. That I’d hunt down every. single. one. of the people who helped you then and afterward. That I’d kill them with my own two hands, if I had to. Don’t think I’ve forgotten.”

Archie swallows, throat dry and takes a step back, to do what he doesn’t even know, he’s just shrinking away from Hiram’s gaze, form his words, but Laurie’s voice stops him short.

“Don’t move.” She orders, in that hard, uncompromising way of hers and when he looks over, he can see that she has her rifle trained on him.

It’s hopeless, all of it. If Archie thought that begging would have any effect on Hiram at all except goading him on more, this is where Archie would get on his knees, pride be damned. Instead he just stands there like an idiot and waits for whatever’s going to happen next.

Hiram turns away form Archie and towards Laurie instead. “I think I’ll be staying in town for a couple of days, after all.”, he says, eyes flicking back over to Archie and Jughead. “I don’t suppose you have somewhere more secure to house our guests in the meantime, Miss Lake? A cellar perhaps?”

From the look on her face, Laurie knows as well as Archie does that none of that was a request, regardless of how polite Hiram’s words may have been made to sound and he can tell that she’s not happy about it. But she nods anyway and Archie can’t help but wonder what it is that Hiram’s holding over her head. “We have a root cellar next to the main house. Only one way in or out, sturdy lock. We’d have to clean out a few supplies, though, if they bother you.”

Hiram hums his approval. “We have two strapping young men with us, who I’m sure are more than happy to lend a hand, if need be. Show me.”

Laurie darts her eyes towards Archie, hesitating, but then she lowers her rifle and turns around to step out of the barn, Hiram following her, calling over his shoulder without turning around. “Bring them along, if you’d please, Augustine.”

Hiram’s goon wrestles Jughead to his feet, keeps a hand on his shoulder and the gun pressed to his head as he shoves Jughead along, making him stumble. Archie has no choice but to move with them. Does his best to avoid Jughead’s gaze, afraid of what he’ll find there.

The door to the root cellar is at the side of the house, tapered like that of a tornado bunker. True to Laurie’s word, it’s made of hardwood and there’s an iron bar with a thick padlock securing it. Both the bar and the lock look relatively new and it makes Archie wonder if they’ve had trouble with people trying to break in and steal from their supplies lately. Just exactly how bad has Hiram left this town off?

Archie follows Hiram and Laurie down a set of wooden steps slightly sagging with age, into a space that’s about thirty square feet wide with walls, floor and ceiling all made up out of packed dirt, like the room was dug into the earth a long time ago. There are a couple of thick, square wooden pillars supporting the ceiling throughout the room, more along the walls, and a single, naked bulb lights up the space when Laurie pulls its chain. It’s not enough to chase away the shadows completely, but it illuminates rows after rows of wooden crates. From what Archie can see, most of them are filled with potatoes, but there are others full of corn, cucumbers, pears and somewhere, Archie thinks he can smell apples, too. It’s nothing out of the ordinary for a farm like this. Enough to get a family through the winter and have some left over to trade, if need be, he guesses.

“Yes,” Hiram says, hand coming up to his chin thoughtfully. “I think we’ll want the space cleared.”

They put him and Jughead to work, make them carry the crates up the steps and stack them along the side of the house, Laurie and her rifle keeping an eye on them there and Hiram’s goon, Augustine, doing the same beneath ground. It’s grueling work, the crates are heavy and wide and there are so many of them Archie eventually loses count.

The sun begins its slow descent in the west, as they work, skin warm and sweat-sticky, muscles burning and fatigue growing. And Archie can see Jughead struggling, grinding his teeth, pushing himself to keep moving, but stumbling under the weight of his load. Every time one of them slows down to catch their breath, Hiram reprimands them harshly, pushes them on until Archie can see black spots flitting across his vision and Jughead sway precarious as he heaves up the next crate. It’s a tactic to tire them out, make them less likely to fight back or try anything stupid, but knowing that doesn’t mean that there’s anything Archie can do about it.

For a moment, there at the end, Archie isn’t sure they’re going to make it. Jughead looks flushed and strained, and Archie has to catch and steady him once, when they pass each other by and Jughead trips, hair falling messily across his face from beneath his beanie and sticking to his skin. But they push on and eventually, Archie sets the last of the crates onto its stack outside and heaves a tired sight of relief. Next to him, Jughead leans forward, hands on his knees and tries to catch his breath, muscles shaking with exhaustion.

~*~*~

Hiram makes them climb back down into the cellar after.

They’d lost their jackets, Jughead’s shirt and his camera while they were working, their discarded things piled up in a corner near the stairs.

Hiram makes them line up by the wall, Augustine and his nine-millimeter never leaving his side.

“Well done, boys.” Hiram says and all Archie wants to do is punch him in his stupid, condescending face. He’d do it too, if he didn’t have a loaded gun pointing in his direction and if he was sure he’d actually be able to take the swing without keeling over from exhaustion. “Now to the specifics. I’ll need you to take off your shoes and belts and hand them over.”

“And your suspenders.” He adds, after taking a look at Jughead, eyebrow raised.

There’s no point in fighting Hiram on it, so they comply with clumsy fingers, tossing the items over to land vaguely at Hiram’s feet as they go.

“If either of you needs to pee, now would be the time to say so, because it’s going to be a while.” With Hiram, Archie’s never really sure, if he’s being serious or if he’s just mocking, but Archie shakes his head all the same. Jughead just scrunches his face up into a frown and says nothing. It seems to be good enough for Hiram either way.

“All right then.” Hiram rubs his hands together like he means business, looking for all the world like this is just one more point on his daily agenda. “If you’ll please?” He gestures towards two, thick wooden pillars near the back of the room.

Augustine finally holsters his gun, gathers up their discarded belts and follows them over. He shoves Jughead around, manhandles him,being rougher than he’d need to, until Jughead is sitting in the dirt with his back to the beam. It’s just narrow enough that Jug’s wrists meat on the other side of it when Augustine pulls his arms back, makes a loop out of one of their belts and uses it to tie Jughead’s hands together. Jughead makes a pained little sound when Augustine pulls the loop tight around his wrists and Archie takes a reflexive step forward. To do what, he doesn’t know, only that the look Jughead gives him, tight-lipped and beseeching, stops him.

He doesn’t try to fight back as he gets the same treatment, tied to the post across form Jug.

“See you in a bit, boys.” Hiram says, airy and mocking. “Try to be good, while I’m gone.”

With that, Hiram turns and leaves the cellar, Augustine following him like the shadow he’s no doubt payed to be, but only after pulling the chain on the light bulb and plunging the cellar into darkness. The last of the light gets cut off, when the door falls shut behind them and what remains is an inky, all-consuming black.

~*~*~

All Archie can hear in the darkness is Jughead’s slowly calming breathing. They’re sitting just close enough, that their ankles can touch if they both stretch out their legs and Archie welcomes the contact, uses it as an anchor point. The edges of the hardwood beam are digging into his arms and shoulders and the leather of his belt is tight enough around his wrists that it feels like it’s biting into his skin, blood flow to his hands not cut off completely but slowed to an uncomfortable prickle and he wonders how long it’ll be before they fall asleep completely.

Here in the dark, the adrenaline is beginning to wear off and all he’s left feeling is tired and scared, trying his best not to think about what Hiram has planned for them, why he decided to go through the trouble of keeping them alive instead of just shooting them in the head and being done with it. If it really is just to get the names of the people, who helped Archie out of them, then they’re in deep shit. Because there’s no way Archie can give up any of them. Veronica, Betty, his dad, and all the others. He already owes them more than he’ll ever be able to pay back.

As if reading Archie’s mind, Jughead’s voice sounds out from across from him, floating disembodied and eerie in the pitch dark. “You have to promise me, no matter what happens, you won’t tell him anything. No names.”

“Jug-” Archie starts, but Jughead cuts him off.

“Swear it!”, Jughead bites out. It’s urgent and rough and it hurts in a way Archie can’t really explain.

“I swear, Jug.” Archie concedes, immediately feeling the weight of his promise settle onto his shoulders. He knows he won’t, can’t, but it only heightens the feeling of dread that’s settled into his stomach, makes it more solid and more real. There are so many ways that Hiram can hurt them, and he doesn’t mind the thought of his own pain so much as he does the prospect of seeing Jughead hurt. The thought of Jughead being made to suffer for Archie’s mistakes makes him feel nauseous and weak and he has to shake his head to clear it. He can’t get hung up on that right now, he needs to try to figure out a way to get out of this mess, if there is one.

Archie doesn’t make Jughead swear in return, because there’s not doubt in Archie’s mind that Jughead won’t give anyone up. Jughead’s always been stronger than Archie in that way, not when it comes to muscle or brawn, but his inner resolve, his ability to compartmentalize and push away the things that don’t matter in order to weather through hardship. Staying strong where Archie would have folded and given up a long time ago.

“We need to figure out a way to get out of this.”, Archie whispers, trying to fight off the settling quiet. “Can you get out of your bonds?”

Jughead sighs, sounding as tired as Archie feels. “No. You?”

Archie tries, just for the sake of it, but it’s like he expected. The way his arms are pressed against the pillar gives him no room to maneuver at all and the belt is looped tight and secure around his wrists, hands slowly going numb. “No.”

Jughead presses his ankle more firmly against Archie’s and Archie doesn’t know if it’s meant to comfort Archie or himself, but it works for Archie either way. He returns the gesture gratefully. No matter what happens, they still have each other. Maybe that’ll be enough to get them through this. They’ve had the odds stacked against them more often than Archie can count in the last two years alone and they still, through some miracle, made it out in one piece. But then again, everyone’s luck has got to run out eventually, right?

“We just need to keep our heads on straight,” Jughead says, sounding tired but determined. “Keep our feet still until there’s an opening. Until we’ve got a chance. Then we can make a run for it. Hiram Lodge isn’t perfect. Given enough time he’s going to make a mistake. And then we’re out of here.”

“Yeah.” Archie leans his head back against the wood. He wants to believe that so fucking badly. Ignore the dark sense of foreboding that’s festering at the back of his head like an infected wound. “I’m just gonna close my eyes for bit, OK?”

Jughead hums as an answer and then falls quiet, sounding like he’s about to fall asleep himself. And that would be just like Jughead, being able to do that in a situation like this. Archie doesn’t expect to be able to actually sleep, all he’s planing to do is rest for a little while, preserve his strength.

And yet, exhaustion taking over he drifts off to the sound of Jughead’s quiet breathing.

~*~*~

Archie doesn’t know how long he’s been out, only that it’s the sound of the cellar door being opened that startles him awake. The only light creeping in from outside is the soft glow of an old-fashioned gaslight, carried by Augustine as he descends the stairs ahead of Hiram, so Archie guesses it must have been a couple hours at least, if night has fallen in earnest in the meantime.

He’s stiff and sore all over, blinking to chase the sleep from his eyes, and there’s a dull emptiness settled in his stomach, reminding him that it’s been a while since he ate last.

Augustine pulls the chain for the overhead light and discards the lantern once it flicks to life, Archie having to close his eyes against the glare before he can squint them back open. Across from him, Jughead is having similar troubles. He looks drawn and weary, lines of discomfort stark on his pale face.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, boys.” Hiram intones, still as bright and enthusiastic as before. “But I needed to take care of a few things. Businesses don’t run themselves, after all. But I promise there won’t be any more interruptions for now.”

“How humbling that you’re going through all that trouble just for us.” Jughead bites out, voice dripping with sarcasm. “I’m sure it must be a real hassle to take a couple of days off like this.”

Archie thins his lips into a tight line, kicking at Jughead’s ankle to shut him up. Antagonizing Hiram really isn’t the wisest of paths to take here.

But Hiram’s smile just widens as he crouches down to look Jughead in the eyes. “Believe me, it’s more than worth it.”

“What do you want, Hiram?” Archie presses out through clenched teeth, just to get Hiram’s attention away from Jughead and onto himself. “Because, if this is still about getting payback, what more can you possibly take from me? Isn’t it enough that you drove me away form my home? That you made me leave behind the people I love? You took everything I had and left me with nothing. Do you really need to see me dead, too, to get your peace?”

“Oh, this is about more than seeing you dead, Archie. Although that is the end goal, yes.” Hiram says, rising to his feet again. “It’s about seeing you _suffer_ first. You betrayed me, _threatened_ me. I won’t rest until you’re begging me to pull the trigger.”

The words send a cold shiver of dread up Archie’s spine, make his gums tingle and his throat tighten, but he can’t give in to the fear. Jughead’s right, they need to buy as much time as they can and keep a level head, if there’s going to be any hope at all of them getting out of this. No matter how infinitely small.

“But first,” Hiram goes on, leisurely shrugging off his jacket and handing it to Augustine as he speaks, then starting in on the cuffs of his dress shirt. “You _are_ going to give me names, Archie.”

“There aren’t any more names to give.” Jughead throws in, shifting in the dirt, muscles drawn taut. “I was the one who organized Archie’s break-out and I was the one who helped him skip town after. I’m sorry to break it to you, Mr. Lodge, but you’re wasting your time.”

Hiram scoffs at that, loosening his tie and pulling it over his head before handing it off as well, unhurriedly rolling up the sleeves of his shirt to reveal the thick muscles in his forearms. “Please, Mr. Jones, don’t try to take me for a fool. You and I both know that that break-out wasn’t a one man job.”

Rolling first his shoulders and then his neck until the joints pop ominously, Hiram continues, Archie’s stomach sinking. “Why don’t we play a little game? Just to loosen things up a bit. I’m no monster, after all.”

Jughead scoffs at that, but Hiram just ignores him and goes on. “Archie’s already familiar with what it’s like to fight for your life and I feel gracious tonight. I’ve been dealt such a lucky hand. So I’ve decided to give you a chance to earn your freedom.”

There’s a pause for dramatic effect, to let the words sink in and Archie can see Jughead’s brow furrow in suspicion, the frown on his face deepening. The same dark anticipation growing in Archie, because he knows Hiram and he’d bet his last penny that Hiram has no intention whatsoever of letting them go and that whatever he’s got planned is going to end badly for Jughead and him.

“A boxing match, one against one, bare-knuckles.” Hiram raises his arms casually, welcoming, like what he’s in the process of proposing isn’t completely fucking outrageous. “As many rounds as you can take. And all you have to do to end this now, to walk out of here as free men, is land one single punch.”

“I’m in.” Archie bursts out, even if he can see Jughead shake his head at him out of the corner of his eyes, trying to deter him. And yeah, Archie knows that it’s probably a fucking trap, but he also knows that he can land that punch, even as tired and hungry as he is right now. Fighting is something he’s intimately familiar with.

But Hiram just tuts at him like he’s a foolish child, too slow on the uptake. “I’m not fighting you, Archie. It’s either your friend,  _Jughead_ ,” and Hiram says the name like it’s one of the most ridiculous things he’s ever heard, but he’s indulging them anyway “, or the offer is off the table.”

Archie can hear Jughead suck in a startled breath, eyes darting over to Archie like he’s not sure what to do with that and, yeah, that’s one thing Archie sure as Hell  wasn ’t expect ing .  There’s no way Jughead has a chance against Hiram. Jughead may be one of the smartest, bravest people Archie knows, but he can’t fight worth shit.  He wouldn’t stand a chance against Hiram under normal circumstances, not to mention now, after Hiram has spent half the day working them into exhaustion. Hiram is going to wipe the floor with him and Archie  won’t to let that happen  when all he can do is sit there and watch .  All this is, is more of Hiram’s cruel  mind games.

“No deal, then.” Archie grinds out at the same time as Jughead says, “Alright.”

Archie’s head snaps back over to Jughead, incredulous. “What? No!”

“You heard your friend, Archie.” Hiram looks at Archie with that crooked, malicious smile on his face that tells Archie he’s getting exactly what he wants and all Archie can do is stare back at him, dumbfounded.

H iram rounds Jughead’s pillar and loosens the belt around his wrists himself, before stepping back to the center of the room, where there’s just enough space to mimic a  small  boxing ring. Jughead gets to his feet gingerly, leaning against the pillar as he balances on stiff,  wobbly legs and rubs at his red-lined wrists,  flexes his fingers to get the blood flowing again . 

“Jug, don’t!”, Archie pleads, really scared now. “He’s toying with you. There’s no way he’s going to let us go. No matter what you do. Don’t give him what he wants.”

“Are you calling me a liar, Archie?” Hiram asks, mock offended and arms raised, placative. “You should know me better than that.”

Jughead squares his shoulders, jaw set determinedly, but Archie can see the cracks in his veneer, the way his eyes dart around the room, to Archie, to the closed cellar door with Augustine standing guard at the bottom of the stairs, gun holstered but still very obviously there. Jughead isn’t sure of this at all, but he’s going to do it anyway, because he’s a stubborn bastard and once he’s set his mind to something, however ill-advised, he’ll go through with it.

It’s how he broke his arm and chipped his tooth when they were seven and Archie had made that stupid bet with him, saying Jughead wouldn’t be able to climb onto the roof of their tree house and Jughead had taken it as a challenge. He’d made it up, too, standing there grinning like an idiot, hands on his hips. The way down was where he’d slipped, just short of shimmying back into the tree house through the window and fallen all the way down. Missing the grass by half a foot and landing on the concrete driveway instead. Or how he’d ended up in the hospital the night of the riots, beaten to within an inch of his life and left for dead by the Ghoulies after he’d decided to sacrifice himself to keep the Serpents safe.

Archie never wants to see anything like that happen ever again.

“Jug, come on. You’re smarter than this.” Archie tries, but Jughead isn’t swayed. He glances back at Archie one more time, mouth a thin, humorless line, eyes just a little too wide. and then walks over to face Hiram.

Jughead’s always been on the skinny side growing up and he’s still more lanky than not, even if he’s built up a bit of muscle, filling out his frame to keep it just short of too thin, probably from lugging around that stupidly heavy laptop of his all the time. He does a fare job of trying to hide it, all the layers of clothes adding a bit of extra mass, but there’s no denying that he’s more on the lean side still, especially obvious now that all he’s wearing is a loose fitting t-shirt and a pair of baggy khakies. Even with all of that food he puts away, always hungry, like it just evaporates the moment it hits his system.

Hiram may be shorter than Jughead by a couple of inches, but underneath his suit pants and dress shirt his bulk is obvious. Raw strength just barely obscured by the sophisticated layers, he makes Jughead look fragile, breakable, next to him and it terrifies Archie.

Scares him in a way that makes him clench his teeth and strain the muscles in his arms, testing his bindings again, looking for even the slightest give, unable to stay still.

“Come on.” Hiram makes a beckoning gesture with his hand and raises his eyebrows at Jughead, stance wide and ready.

It’s so obvious that Jughead has no idea what he’s doing, not really. His posture is off, legs stiff and arms held too low and too loosely to be an effective guard. His first swing goes wide and Hiram dodges it with minimal effort, taking half a step back and to the side, the move of a seasoned fighter, and Jughead stumbles with his own momentum. Hiram surges back in, like a rattlesnake striking and his fist hits Jughead square in the gut in a controlled burst of violence.

Jughead makes a startled little sound, air whooshing out of his lungs, eyes going wide, and then doubles over, tumbles to the packed dirt floor wheezing for breath.

Archie, jerking harder at his bonds, silently begs him to stay down, to leave it be, but of course, Jughead isn’t giving up that easily. Slowly, painfully, he gets his feet back under him and straightens up again.

Hiram doesn’t even wait for him to catch his breath. He moves right back in, two brutal jabs to the ribs and one to the jaw, the sound of flesh hitting flesh horribly loud in the confined space of the cellar, and Jughead hits the floor all over again, harder this time and spitting blood. Jughead wipes it away with the back of his hand, smearing crimson and dirt across his cheek, stark against the pale skin. Slower and with more effort he heaves himself upright on shaky legs, face pulled into a grimace.

Archie pulls at his restraints, jerks at the leather desperately, flinches with every punch Jughead takes, like he’s the one being hit. Tries furtively, frantically to get himself free. This would be the perfect moment for an ambush, while no-one’s paying him any mind. No-one needs to, either. The leather doesn’t budge at all, no give, nothing but the growing pain in his wrists and in his lungs as he watches on. He’s completely fucking useless.

Every pained groan, every helpless little sound Jughead makes sinks itself into Archie’s gut like a hook and twists until Archie’s insides are a horrible, aching knot of tension. He can’t just sit there and keep watching. Hiram is using Jughead as a punching bag, being intentionally cruel in the way he aims his fists, meant to cause pain, to not leave any respite and Jughead can barely keep up, can barely keep on his feet.

Jughead’s cheek splits under the impact of Hiram’s knuckles, legs buckling, but Hiram gabs him by the front of his t-shirt and holds him upright. Pulls his fist back and punches Jughead in the face once, then again in quick succession and Jughead doesn’t even have a chance to raise his arms to shield himself. Blood bursts from Jughead’s nose, gushing over his bruised lips and down his chin, Jughead choking on it.

“Stop!”, Archie yells, when Hiram angles back his fist for another hit, Jughead sagging in his grip, dazed. Archie can’t keep quiet anymore, not caring, if he’s begging. “Please stop! You’re going to kill him!”

Hiram grins and lets go of Jughead’s t-shirt and Jughead falls to the ground in a miserable heap, eyes unfocused and hands grasping blindly at the dirt, trying to steady himself. There’s a thin sheen of sweat glistening on Hiram’s skin, the blood on his knuckles the only blemish he bears and it’s shocking how put together he looks when Jughead is a bloody mess at his feet, trying to push himself back up, but failing, arms giving out halfway through.

“Just fight me instead, please!” Archie rushes on. “I won’t even fight back, I swear, just _please stop!”_

Hiram actually has the gall to laugh at that, so pleased with himself, and if Archie weren’t tied up and helpless to do anything, if he could, he’d kill Hiram with his bare hands. Impotent rage rushes blood to his face and he feels almost feverish with it.

“You know what I want, Archie.” Hiram tells him calmly, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “Give me names and I’ll stop.”

Archie girts his teeth and swallows back helpless tears. “Jughead already told you-”, he starts, but Hiram cuts him off harshly.

“Enough with that! You and I both know that it’s bullshit.” He stoops down to grab hold of the front of Jughead’s t-shirt again, the fabric dirty and blood-stained, and starts dragging him across the floor by it, towards where Archie is tied up.

Jughead struggles against him, but his feet keep slipping, scrambling uselessly across the dirt. In the tussle, his beanie comes lose and slips off his head, a mess of sweaty black curls falling across his forehead and sticking to his skin.

Hiram stops when Jughead is lying next to Archie, his head inches away form Archie’s hip, and drops him there. Jughead clumsily tries to push himself up onto his elbows, dazed eyes darting to catch Archie’s, but Hiram pushes him back down with a heavy hand on his chest, sinks to his knees astride Jughead’s hips and pins him to the earth effortlessly. 

T hen Hiram slides the hand on Jughead’s  heaving  chest up, slowly as if to taunt, until it closes around the soft stretch of Jughead’s throat.

“No, wait!” Archie pleads, tearing at his bindings, uncaring of the pain as the leather bites into his bruised skin, splinters cutting at his arms, shoulders straining.

Hiram pays him no mind at all. 

Archie can see the moment Hiram’s grip tightens in the way Jughead’s eyes go wide and his  blood-stained  mouth drops open, trying to suck in air that’ s  no longer  coming, hands fl y ing up to push at Hiram, his arm, his chest,  his face . Scrabbling  wildly for some kind of leverage, but finding none. Unmoved, Hiram uses his free hand to capture Jughead’s red-lined wrists and push them down above his head, pale forearms smeared with dirt and dotted with angry, blooming bruises.

“Tell me.”, Hiram says, eyes cold as they bore into Archie, voice a command, a challenge, and all Archie wants to do is scream.

“Please-”, Archie sobs out, helpless and panicked, caught in an impossible place, as Jughead bucks against Hiram’s grip uselessly, movements growing frantic. “I can’t give you what you want!”

I t feels like time slows down, seconds stretching unbearably as he watches Jughead’s struggles grow weaker,  his chest  spasming and legs kicking out at nothing and all Archie can hear is the rush of blood in his ears, his heart beating so fast he thinks it’ll burst out of his ribs  at  any moment.

Then Hiram tsks at him, disappointed, and pulls his hand away from Jughead’s throat.

Jughead desperately sucks in air, choking and coughing, convulsing in Hiram’s hold in his urgency to pull oxygen back into his lungs, wet trails running down the sides of his face from the corners of his eyes.

A rchie’s so relieved, he can’t hold back the tears, hates himself for being that weak, letting Hiram see what he did to him, how effective his tactic is, but being unable to stop himself. 

“Ah, well.” Hiram says lightly and Jughead flinches when Hiram pats his cheek condescendingly. “We’ve got time. I’m just getting started, Archie. That’s a promise.”

Finally letting go of Jughead Hiram gets back to his feet easily and walks over to Augustine, fixing his shirt sleeves as he goes and taking back his tie and suit jacket. Jughead rolls onto his side, pulls his arms in close to his chest and keeps heaving for breath. Bruised lips parted to reveal glimpses of blood-red teeth.

“I think I’m going to retire for the night.” Hiram says, patting Augustine’s shoulder as he walks past him. “Why don’t you take care of the rest?”

“Yes, sir.” Augustine’s answer is controlled and emotionless, completely unconcerned with everything he just witnessed and that’s so out of sorts with the way Archie feels, raw and drained, pried open and still trying to calm himself back down, that it makes him feel like he’s going to be sick.

Jughead doesn’t fight it, when Augustine walks over and drags him along by his shoulders, just sags in the man’s grip as he’s being propped back up against his pillar. Winces and grits his teeth when Augustine pulls his arms back and refastens the discarded belt, uncaring of the fresh bruises. Jughead’s head  lolls back against the pillar and  he  swallows thickly, breath hitching every time he inhales too deeply .

This time, Augustine doesn’t turn off the light before he ascends the stairs and closes the cellar door after himself, lock sliding back into place loudly. It’s a mercy and a cruelty both,  because not being stuck in the dark is a comfort, but it also means that Archie has nothing better to do than stare at Jughead, cataloging every cut and bruise he can see from this angle and feeling the guilt bear down on him like a ton of bricks being slowly lowered onto his chest. 

“Don’t.”,Jughead whispers, rough and so low that Archie almost doesn’t catch it. There’s a dark circle of bruises forming around his throat, standing out starkly where Jughead’s skin isn’t smudged with blood and Archie can hardly look. Both of their faces are sticky and wet.

“What?” He asks, hissing softly as he shifts his weight, arms and wrists sore.

“Don’t act like this is all your fault or something.” Jughead shoots back weakly, struggling to keep his eyes open to meet Archie’s gaze, still panting unevenly. “That’s not doing either one of us any good.”

“Shit.” Archie swears, thunking his head back against the pillar. He can feel himself start to shake with the slowly ebbing adrenaline as the fact that it’s over for now slowly sinks in, heart rate struggling to even itself out. Then, with more vehemence, “Shit!”

They just sit there for a while, catching their breath, Archie trying to deal with the bone deep weariness that’s taking over him to replace the hellish whirlwind of emotion from before, the aches in his body growing more pronounced as the rest fades out. It feels a little like coming down from a bad high.

Across from him Jughead looks a lot worse off than Archie feels, he’s breathing shallowly through his mouth, his nose crusted with drying blood and probably clogged up, eyes closed and brows furrowed, lines of discomfort growing deeper as he sags against the pillar. Archie carefully taps his ankle against Jughead’s to get his attention, legs stretched out again.

“How bad is it?” Archie asks, wincing a little at Jughead’s grimace.

“Could be worse.” Jughead mumbles, voice still off, and yeah, that’s not really saying a lot.

Archie gives him a tight-lipped look, pressing the side of his foot to Jughead’s calf. Jughead pushes back softly. Goes to say something else, but ends up with a minor coughing fit, spitting an ugly mix of pink-ish blood and saliva into the dirt next to him when he’s done.

“Just a bunch of bruises.” He tries again, not meeting Archie’s eyes. “Looks and feels worse than it is. Hell, I’ve _had_ worse.”

“Why did you agree to go up against Hiram?” Archie can’t help but ask. “Did you really think he’d let us go, if you landed a punch?”

Jughead huffs out a derisive laugh and then grimaces as if the motion hurt. “I don’t think Hiram’s going to let us go until we’re both dead.” He shoots back, mouth an ugly twist across his battered face. “But at least going up against him meant I got a chance to fight back. Didn’t work out all that great, but it’s still better than not being able to. And I’m pretty sure whatever he’d have come up with as an alternative would have been way worse. Besides, I may not know how to throw a decent punch, but at least I know how to take one.”

Archie furrows his brow at the self-deprecating humor, but Archie knows Jughead well enough to get that it’s his way of coping and Archie isn’t going to try and take that away form him. As long as Jughead’s still joking, he’s still intact. And Archie _does_ get it. There’s nothing worse than feeling completely helpless at the hands of someone who intends to hurt you. God, this is all so fucked up.

“We’ve got to figure out a way out of here.” Archie says, even if he has no idea where to start, all he knows is that it’s their only option. “Before Hiram comes back for round two.”

Jughead sighs and leans his head back, eyes closing tiredly. “Yeah.  Just give me a moment. ”

Jughead looks painfully young like that, guard down  and pale, battered and bruised and with his stupid signature hat missing, lying in the dirt a few feet away, and Archie almost can’t take the way it hurts. Sure, they’re both only 17, kids really, but most of the time these days Archie feels like he’s about 300 years old. Tired in a way you’re not supposed to  be  when you’re not even done with high school, yet. But then again, Archie couldn’t be farther removed form that world of classrooms and crowded hallways, from the normalcy of studying for tests and football practices and trying to find the time to write music and pursue his dream in-between, while at the same time wondering if Betty will ever forgive him for kissing Ronnie in Cherryl Blossom’s closet. Those memories  are  so distant now, that it’s almost like they  belong to a different person. And in a way, Archie supposes, they do .

With nothing else to  occupy himself with , he starts to test his bindings again, wriggles his wrists more slowly, more purposefully this time. It hurts like a bitch, the skin already sore, his arms tired and hands numb, but it makes him feel like at least he’s not giving up and that’s the most important thing he can think of right now. Maybe, if he tries hard enough, persistently enough, he’ll be able to get himself free. Anything after that, he’ll get to once he’s there.

~*~*~


	2. Chapter two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, folks, here's part two.
> 
> Please note that the warnings for non-con and branding come into effect for this chapter, so take care and stay safe <3
> 
> I think (or at least I really, strongly hope) that the last chapter will be done and ready to post in a week at most? It kind of depends on my workload next week. I'm doin' my best, guys.
> 
> Originally, I was going to space out posting chapters a little better, to give me more time to finish this thing, but I'm an impatient little sh*t, so here we are.
> 
> Hope you enjoy ~
> 
> If you stumble upon any more errors or inconsistencies, I apologize. I did my best, but you're always welcome to let me know so that I can go back and fix what I missed.

~*~*~

Surprisingly, it’s not that long until the lock on the cellar door groans as it gets worked again and the door is pulled open.

Archie stops his wriggling and squares his shoulders against the pillar and across from him Jughead jerks into wakefulness, pulled from an uneasy, exhaustion-fueled doze. Jughead looks disoriented, eyes blurry, tries to blink away the fog with his head lolling against the pillar precariously.

Archie’s mouth thins into a tight, humorless line as he watches Laurie descend the stairs to the cellar, a small-ish wooden tray in her hands, followed by Augustine, who’s carrying his same gas lantern and pulls the door closed after himself.

Augustine stays a few steps back, taking up his stony-faced vigil near the stairs as Laurie comes over to them with her tray, posture stiff and her face a tense, hard mask of discontentment. She sets the tray down near their feet and her gaze skates over first Archie, who’s eyes she refuses to meet, then Jughead. Archie can see the way her frown deepens, jaw-muscles working as she takes in Jughead’s state.

He wonders what it must be like for her, to be made complicit in this and whatever else Hiram has planned for them, in the torture and very likely the murder of two teen-aged boys. Archie doesn’t know why she’d decided to hand him over to Hiram in the first place, but he guesses she’d thought she’d be a lot less involved in whatever happened to him after than she is now. ‘Out of sight, out of mind’ is a vastly different deal than the way Hiram is using her now. Not for the first time Archie wonders what it is that Hiram’s go on her, how he’s forcing her hand like this. He has the strong suspicion that it might have something to do with her father and brother.

Because even after what she did to him, Archie may be pretty damn angry at her, but he doesn’t think that she’s a bad person per se. He thinks that maybe she’s just someone who’s fallen on hard times and has been forced to make some really tough decisions, some of which more than a little morally questionable. It can’t be easy, shouldering the responsible for her little sister and a farm this size by herself in a town that’s slowly dying, regardless of how tough she seems. It feels better trying to see her that way, as human, than to focus his rage on her, when it’s Hiram who deserves to be the sole target of that.

“I’m going to give you some water.” She says, cold, trying to keep her hard exterior intact, but Archie can see the tension lines around her eyes as she grabs the thermos from the tray and moves over to Jughead. She unscrews the cap, but pauses and frowns as she looks at Jughead’s face. Reaches for her back pocket to pull out a checkered piece of cloth instead, a neckerchief similar to the one she’d used to gag Archie when she’d first tied him up in her barn. Presses it against the mouth of the thermos and tilts to get the cloth wet.

Then she dabs at Jughead’s mouth and chin with it, not especially gentle, but not purposefully rough either, wipes perfunctorily at the flaking blood. Jughead hisses air in through his teeth but doesn’t twist away from her, eyes stubbornly locked on her face even if she won’t meet his gaze.

When she lifts the thermos to Jughead’s mouth his lips are clean, a long cut on the bottom one and the blotchy bruise forming around it starkly visible now and Archie winces at the sight of it. The first few swallows are taken a little too hastily and Jughead ends up choking, pulling away to cough as water dribbles down his neck and soaks into the collar of his t-shirt along with the blood. He goes more slowly the second time around and Laurie just lets him for a while before eventually pulling the thermos away again.

Finally, Laurie moves over to Archie and lets him drink, too. Archie only realizes how thirsty he actually is the moment the water hits his tongue. He drinks deeply, greedily for as long as Laurie lets him, comes up gasping for breath as she pulls the mouth of the thermos away. The water hits his empty stomach like a fist and for a moment he feels like he might regret drinking so quickly, but his stomach settles down again after a bit and he breathes a quiet sigh of relief.

Laurie goes back to the tray to unscrew a second, larger thermos that has a lid formed more like a cup and Jughead surreptitiously glances over to Augustine, to Laurie, then gives Archie a look over her bowed head, eyes determined. Archie doesn’t know what Jughead is thinking, but he can see the gears working as Jughead chews on his bottom lip, mindful of the cut.

“Are you regretting your bargain with Hiram, yet?” Jughead asks after a bit, chin raised as if in challenge and Laurie pauses the process of pouring what looks (and smells) like stew from the thermos into the cup.

Archie sneaks a hurried glance at Augustine. The man frowns but doesn’t move to intercede and Archie slides his eyes back over to Jughead, a silent warning. Which, of course, Jughead ignores.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Laurie says angrily as she moves over to Jughead with her cup of softly steaming stew.

Archie’s stomach growls as the smell wafts over to him, mouth watering, and he grimaces at the sound, but nobody’s really paying him any attention.

“I bet this isn’t exactly how you imagined things would go.” Jughead continues. “What was the deal, hm? You get him Archie and in exchange your brother and your father don’t have to work for him anymore?”

Laurie gives him a sharp look, meeting his eyes for the first time. Augustine shifts his weight and sets his lantern down at the bottom of the stairs, arms crossing over his chest and eyes narrowing. Archie nudges Jughead’s ankle, but Jughead keeps talking anyway.

“I hear he owns the whole town now.” Jughead goes on. “Let me guess, he came in as an ‘anonymous buyer’, snatching up pieces of land, using a bunch of dirty little tricks to decrease property values and raising rents? Forcing businesses to close down one by one and flooding the town with drugs at the same time? And then, when people are facing bankruptcy he swoops in like a knight in shining armor and offers loans for conditions too good to be true? And since no-one’s able to pay him back he starts picking off people, forcing them to work at his new prison in Riverdale? You probably know that he has them cooking drugs for him, right? So you give him Archie in exchange for your brother’s and your father’s freedom? Tell me if I got anything worng.”

“In a nutshell.” Laurie shoots back meanly. “Didn’t take you long to figure all that out. You seem like a clever kid. And still, you weren’t able to outrun him. Hiram Lodge caught up with you anyways.”

“Yeah.” Jughead concedes, sounding bitter. “And if you know anything at all about Hiram, then you should be able to guess that he’s not planing on letting us go either.”

“That’s enough.” Augustine steps in, moving closer, his shadow looming and a not so subtle threat in his widening stance.

“Jug-”, Archie starts, but Jughead talks right over him.

“You know he’s going to kill us, right?” Jughead rushes on urgently. “He’s going to make you _and your little sister_ an accessory to murder. Is that really worth it?”

“You just don’t know when to shut up, do you?” Augustine takes another step closer, pushing Laurie to the side as he does so and she drops her cup in the jostle, hot stew splattering across the ground and soaking into the dirt near Jughead’s shin as the cup rolls off into the shadows.

Crouching down next to Jughead, Augustine reaches out a wide hand and slowly traces the finger-shaped bruises that run across Jughead’s throat, looking almost regretful. Jughead meets Augustine’s gaze head-on, not trying to avoid the touch even if Archie can see his posture stiffen with the effort it must cost him to keep still.

“We’ll see how long that lasts.” Augustine muses, sounding thoughtful and moves his fingers away from Jughead’s neck to run them through his hair, pushing the fringe away from his forehead, loosening the strands that had stuck themselves to Jughead’s skin.

The gesture seems off in a way Archie can’t really put his finger on and it makes his hackles rise. All he knows is that he really needs that creep to stop touching Jughead _now._

“Hey. Leave him alone!” Archie growls and when Augustine turns towards him, he straightens his back and squares his jaw, mentally steeling himself for Augustine to snap and resort to violence after all. That, at least, Archie knows how to deal with.

Instead, Augustine just raises an un-amused eyebrow,  huffs out a breath and shakes his head before getting back to his feet. 

“Time to go.” Augustine turns to Laurie and jerks his chin towards the door, before walking back to the stairs to gather up his lantern. 

Laurie stiffly gets to her feet and picks up her tray, the fallen cup to her thermos all but forgotten. She climbs the steps out of the cellar and into the night without looking back, shoulders tense and head held stubbornly high.

A ugustine pulls the chain on the bulb overhead and plunges them into gloom, the last of the light retreating with him and leaving behind nothing but darkness.

“That went well.” Jughead’s voice, mock cheerful, floats over to him and Archie can’t help the unhappy twist his mouth pulls into.

“Why do you have to keep antagonizing them?” He asks the wall of darkness in front of him. “Isn’t that just going to make things worse?”

Jughead chokes out a derisive laugh. “Probably.” His voice sounds sarcastic and very tired. “But, like it or not, Laurie is our only potential ally in this shit show. And she sure as Hell didn’t look happy with what Hiram’s having her do. We’ve gotta keep trying, right?”

Archie feels himself deflate, sagging against the  pillar wearily. “Right.” He says and after that, silence falls back over them like a blanket. One that smells of earth and vegetables and spilled stew.  His stomach rumbles quietly.

“Just, maybe next time you can do it _after_ we get some food?”

Jughead huffs at that, less malice behind it this time. Their ankles bump together softly in the dark. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s probably best, if we try to get some rest. Preserve our strength and stuff.” Archie amends. They could really use it, Jughead especially.

“Yeah.” The reply sounds drowsy, like Jughead’s already halfway to drifting off, doesn’t have much left to keep him going, and Archie decides to let him be.

H e tries to stay awake for a while longer, keeps working on his bindings. The leather grows slippery with time and Archie can’t be sure w h ether it’s from sweat or from blood where his skin has been worked raw enough to split,  but still, it’s not enough to get free, not yet . He grinds his teeth against the pain and listens to the soft, smooth rhythm of Jughead’s breathing to keep his mind focused on something else,  a sound that has accompanied his nights for the past weeks  and so many of his childhood .  Something he’s become familiar with and used to, a comfort even in the direst of places.

Within the secretive hush of darkness, Archie thinks about Augustine’s hand on Jughead’s throat, thinks about replacing it with his own, tracing his fingers along the smooth, milky stretch of skin, drifting from mole to mole until Jughead shudders under his touch and his mouth drops open on a quiet gasp.

When exhaustion finally pulls Archie under, he dreams that he can hear the sound of Jughead’s heart beating in the dark like a soft little drum, the rhythm sinister and deep like a seance, like the music that permeates the summoning of demons.

~*~*~

Archie wakes with a groan, slowly coming out of a heavy kind of sleep to tendrils of soft light creeping in through the spaces between the cellar door and its frame. He blinks tiredly, eyesight blurry, and carefully tries to shift his weight. For a second he’s confused, doesn’t know why he can’t move the way he wants to, why he feels like shit and he’s surrounded by the heavy smell of earth and wood and dust instead of something more familiar, but then it all rushes back in, the memories, the dread, the barely contained despair and he has to take a moment to just focus on breathing, on calming himself back down. He tries to concentrate on the physical instead and there’s enough there to keep his mind busy for a while.

His body aches all over from being stuck in the same position for such a long time, shoulders stiff and arms throbbing, especially around the wrists. They feel raw and bruised and strangely crusted underneath the leather of his belt. Plus it kind of feels like his butt has gone numb from sitting on it for so long, his legs tingling softly as he moves them to get the blood flowing a little again. Last night’s hunger has turned into a muted kind of nausea and his bladder feels about ready to burst.

Archie groans again, heartfelt and there’s a rustling noise across form him, a soft intake of breath and an answering sound of discontentment.

“Morning.” Jughead mumbles and sucks air in through his teeth, releasing it in a strained little grunt.

Archie winces at the roughness of Jughead’s voice, at how strained his vocal chords sound. If Archie’s feeling like shit, he doesn’t even want to imagine how Jughead is faring right now. He can’t help but ask anyway.

“Hey. How are you holding up?”

“Awesome.” Jughead bites out dry as the Sahara desert, breath hitching. “I feel like raw hamburger. I’m hungry and I kind of need to pee really badly. How about you?”

Archie pulls a face, sympathetic, only to remember that Jughead can’t actually see him. “Pretty much the same.”

“Great.” Jughead huffs and Archie can hear him shift. “So I guess we’ll just have to wait and hope for the best. I’d really hate to add ‘pissing my pants at the age of 17’ to the list of ‘humiliating things to go through before I die’.”

“We’re not gonna die.” Archie says softly, not because it’s something he’s sure of, but because it feels like something he _needs_ to say. For his own benefit as much as for Jughead’s. Just to ward off the gravitational downward pull of hopelessness for a little while longer.

“No,” Jughead concedes, sounding a little more sober. “At least not at the hands of Hiram Lodge or one of his goons.”

“That’s a promise.” Archie taps Jughead’s shin with the side of his foot to convey how serious he is. Archie does know, whit a terrible kind of emotional abyss lurking just underneath, that he can’t be sure he’ll be able to keep that one, but it seems all the more important for it.

“Promise.” Jughead whispers, so low Archie almost doesn’t catch it, but it’s there and that’s what counts. “Any luck with that belt of yours?”

Archie tries to flex his fingers and they’re sluggish to react, his hands feel puffy, swollen, and when he tests the leather he has to bite back a groan at how much it hurts. He can wriggle his wrists just the tiniest bit, but the belt holds fast aside from that and it’s so hard to push down on the swell of anger and discouragement that bursts open in his chest at that.

“No.” He admits and does his best to not sound the way he feels. “You?”

“Not really...”

“We should think about what we’re gonna do once we get out of here.” Archie rushes out, the need to focus on something other than the bitter, fatalistic sting of disappointment almost overwhelming.

“Arch...” Jughead starts, like he’s going to object, but Archie pushes on before he can say anything more.

“I’m thinking we should keep heading up towards the Canadian border, like we’d talked about. If we get out of the country it’ll be a lot harder for Hiram to reach us. We could find a quiet little cabin out in the wilderness somewhere, maybe I could take a job as a ranger and we could lay low there for a while. Just until things quiet down somewhat. Remember how my dad used to take us camping sometimes when we were little? It can be really peaceful. We both used to love it. And we’d have each other so it wouldn’t get lonely. Plus Canada isn’t that far away, so Betty and my dad could come visit if they’re careful about it. And once Hiram isn’t counting on us anymore, once he’s got his mind set on other things, we can slip back across the border and into Riverdale and we’ll take him down, then. We’ll make sure he gets everything that’s coming to him. Every fucking thing he deserves.”

Archie’s breathing kind of hard, when he finishes, feeling raw and fighting back the lump that’s trying to climb up his throat. He doesn’t think he’s ever wished for anything to be true quite so painfully. It almost feels like, if he tries hard enough, he can teleport Jughead and himself out of this place and into his fantasy just by the force of his will. A fantasy in which he has a chance to redeem himself with Jughead, to repair the damage he did by treating Jughead like someone he could use and then discard as soon as it suited him. A fantasy in which he can pretend to be a better person than he is.

There’s a pause on Jughead’s end and Archie hates that he can’t see his face, can’t see why he’s hesitating, but then Jughead speaks after all, voice a little throaty like there’s something choking him up, something he wants to say but doesn’t. “We could stop in Toledo on the way. Visit Mom and Jellybean while we’re at it.”

“That sounds good.” Archie says, grateful that Jughead is playing along, but there’s more that needs to get out, that shoves at his chest and up his throat, so far removed from anything he feels he can consciously control. “Jug, I-”

But he never gets farther than that, the lock to the cellar door disengaging and it being shoved open cutting him off as light floods into the gloom, making both him and Jughead squint and later, when he thinks back he’s not sure himself anymore what it was he was going to say.

Augustine comes down the stairs and pulls the light bulb’s chain, banning the rest of the gloom as it clicks on and immediately, Archie’s stomach seizes up in apprehension. Afraid that their time of reprieve, their time to come up with some sort of plan is already over. But Augustine remains alone with them, no Hiram coming down the stairs after him and Archie hopes desperately that that’s a good thing.

Augustine walks over to them and rounds the pillar Jughead is tied to, wordlessly crouching down to start unstrapping the belt tying Jughead’s wrists together. Jughead pulls a face like it hurts and Archie immediately starts to tug at his own bindings again.

“Hey!”, he calls out as Jughead’s arms slip free and Augustine starts pulling him to his feet roughly. “What are you doing? Leave him alone!”

“Calm down, asshole.” Augustine says dryly, shoving Jughead towards the stairs, one hand clamped tightly around his upper arm, making him stumble along on unsteady legs. “Bathroom break.”

Archie blinks for a moment, then sags against the pillar in quiet relief. At least that means he won’t end up having to sit in his own piss while he waits for Hiram to come up with new ways to torture him.

~*~*~

Augustine takes them outside one at a time.

Jughead comes back, face pinched and looking uncomfortable, Augustine walking just a little too close to him, just enough to make Archie furrow his brows at Jughead. He tries to catch Jughead’s eye, but Jughead just shakes his head at him. A furtive gesture that tells him to leave it alone, so Archie does.

Once Jughead is tied up again, Augustine frees Archie and jerks him around until he’s on his feet. Seeing his wrists for the first time since they go tied up yesterday is a little surreal. They really do look bad, the skin an angry red where the leather of the belt has been digging into it, a soft latticework of bluish bruising forming along the edges and bits of dried blood crusted along the abrasions. His hands are puffy and reddish, but they get better once he carefully massages them to get the blood flowing properly again while he hurries to keep up with Augustine’s stride, socked feet a little clumsy. His shoulders throb fiercely, so he rolls them forward to work out some of the ache while he has the chance.

“I don’t think I need to tell you what’ll happen to your little friend, if you try anything stupid.” Augustine murmurs close to his ear and Archie startles at the puff of warm breath against his skin, scrunching up his face, annoyed.

“Yeah, I’m not stupid.” Archie bites back and gets shoved for his troubles, almost falling on his face as his foot catches on one of the stairs.

The ‘bathroom’ turns out to be a huge old willow tree near the corner of the farmhouse. Archie supposes either Laurie or Hiram don’t really want them inside, or perhaps its just another ploy to try and humiliate them. Though the only thing that really bothers Archie about the whole thing is the audience. That he could do without.

But yeah, at least Augustine keeps a distance Archie can somewhat wright off as decent. An itchy little part of himself, situated just at the back of his head, wonders angrily if Augustine did Jughead the same curtesy or if that’s why Jug looked the way he did. There’s something in the way Augustine touches Jughead, subtle but still very much there, that makes Archie’s skin prickle and his hackles rise, that makes him want to bare his teeth and throw punches.

Once Archie is back in the cellar, having left the wide fields and open sky behind in trade for walls of packed earth caging him in, Augustine reties him to his pillar, taking care to make sure that the bindings are tight and secure.

It’s only after Augustine is gone and Archie tries to pull at his wrists again, that he realizes that the tiny amount of give he’d been able to work out of the leather over the course of the previous evening and night is completely gone. All of his efforts in vain, just like that and he hardly manages to keep himself from yelling out his frustration and the quiet hopelessness that creeps in alongside it, growing, festering like a spreading fever.

~*~*~

Hiram lets them wait.

They sit together, the naked bulb overhead bathing them in yellowish light and they spend the time talking. Keeping each other occupied, trying to come up with plans for escape, their ideas becoming more outrageous as time passes by, just to stave off the fact that there’s nothing immediately effective they can do.

Jughead looks worse than he did last night. One of his eyes is bloodshot and the bruises on his face have taken on a darker shade, standing out more starkly against his pale skin and when he shifts, he moves slow and stiff, like someone who’s in pain, so Archie guesses there’s more damage where he can’t see.

They’re both doing the best they can to keep their heads clear, but the more the quality of the light leaking in through the cracks in the door changes from bright midday sun to the duskish hues of evening, the more obvious it becomes that they won’t be able to escape whatever Hiram has planned for them next, the harder it gets.

It’s like a slow, agonizing grating against Archie’s nerves, wearing him down, eating away at his insides bit by bit. Archie just doesn’t know if he can take being made to sit there helplessly and watch as Hiram hurt Jughead, again. He doesn’t know if he can go through that without breaking.

~*~*~

It’s not quite dark out, but getting close , when Hiram comes for them. He walks into the cellar like he would into a board room meeting, fresh suit immaculate, untouchable, and a way of carrying himself that leaves no doubt as to who’s in charge.

Jughead’s expression is tight and guarded and he gives Archie a look, a warning and a reminder that Archie cannot say anything, regardless of what happens next. The air in the cellar grows thicker, crowding in, an invisible weight across his chest.

Augustine, following behind Hiram dark and tall, is carrying what looks like a portable blowtorch, a pair of working gloves and a length of thick steel, twisted on one end, though into what shape Archie can’t make out. The sight kicks up his pulse and he shifts against the pillar, hands growing sweat-slick and clammy.

“Hello, boys.” Hiram greets them pleasantly. “I trust you’ve been good in my absence. Made yourselves comfortable, I see.”

“Why don’t you save the bullshit for someone who actually cares?” Jughead bites out, an ugly twist to his expressive mouth.

Archie draws in a breath, doesn’t know what to do, what he _can_ do.

Hiram hums thoughtfully, feigning displeasure. “You really need to work on your manners, Mr. Jones. Anyway. I’ll get right to it then. I’m going to pose the same question I did yesterday, give you a chance to end this the easy way before we go on: Who helped you escape from prison and get out of Riverdale, Archie?”

Hiram’s gaze pierces Archie like he’s a butterfly pinned to a frame by a needle, still alive but unable to escape the agony of his new prison, of his slow, inevitable death, regardless of how much he struggles.

Archie squeezes his eyes shut, thinking desperately of anything he can give Hiram, anything at all, but he comes up only with the crushing certainty that there isn’t a thing he can tell Hiram that would satisfy him. There’s nothing and no-one Archie can give up, just the same as it was yesterday and he can feel his eyes prickle with frustration.

“The answer is still the same as last night.” Jughead says, voice deceptively calm and steady and Archie snaps his eyes open to look at him. “I was the only one, who helped Archie. Nothing’s changed.”

“I see.” Hiram says, shrugging off his jacket just the way he did the night before, a pleased little smile turning up one corner of his mouth. “It seems I have no choice then.”

Hiram goes through the same routine of loosening his tie before handing it off, opening the lapels of his expensive dress shirt and rolling up the sleeves, slowly, casually, like he has all the time in the world. His big, pricey wristwatch glints mockingly, reflecting the overhead light. It twists up Archie’s gut until the knot there feels almost like a noose and Archie can see Jughead trying to steel himself across from him, putting on a brave face, when Archie knows that he’s at least as scared as Archie is.

Then Hiram takes the length of steel from Augustine, twirls it in his hands like he’s contemplating a piece of art he might add to his collection. He steps up to where Archie and Jughead are sitting, crouches down near their feet and holds the twisted end of the rod up to the light so they can both see what it is. The shape twists crudely in on itself, like someone used a pair of pliers to bend it roughly the way they wanted, but Archie recognizes it anyway and by the look of him, so does Jughead. Archie is intimately familiar with it in a way that makes him feel nauseous, conjures up images of a dark jail cell and the scent of burning flesh, the agony that followed. A mark he’ll carry on his skin for the rest of his life.

_Sacrifice._

“I though, since the two of you are going to die by my hand anyway, I might as well make you a matching set.” Hiram says, his eyes skating first over Archie, then resting on Jughead. “It seems appropriate to make it an offering to the Gargoyle King. He’ll be pleased.”

“Oh, please. Everyone knows _you’re_ the Gargoyle King. Why keep up the spiel?” Jughead presses out through his teeth, Archie’s mouth gone too dry to say anything.

Hiram just grins at that, darkly cheerful. “Really? That again? I thought we went through those baseless accusations already. Without proof that’s nothing but ill placed conjecture.”

He hands off the branding iron to Augustine and moves around Jughead, circling him slowly until he can pull loose the belt around his wrists. Jughead shrinks back form Hiram instinctively as Hiram reaches for him, brings up his battered arms to to shove Hiram’s hands away and Archie can’t help but notice that Jughead’s wrists look just as bad as his own did, that he’s been trying as hard as Archie has.

Archie conjures up the faces of the people he’s protecting, one after another, Sweet Pea, Kevin, Fangs, Toni, Reggie, Josy, Cherryl, Betty, his dad, Veronica. Pulls on their memory as hard as he can, tugs it around himself like a shield. Like the choice he doesn’t have. Like they’ll somehow make up for the one person he _can’t_ protect.

Hiram shoves Jughead backwards harshly so that he lands in the dirt, supine, and then grabs hold of one of his ankles and starts dragging him along until Jughead’s lying next to Archie. Jug’s head near Archie’s knees, not close enough to touch but almost, ignoring the way Jughead struggles against him like it makes no difference at all. And somehow, it’s worse like this, Jughead so fucking close but still Archie is helpless to reach out and change anything.

Hiram looks on with hard eyes, not a hint of mercy in them, as he sinks down to straddle Jughead’s waist like he did the night before when he left those angry, fingers-shaped bruises on Jughead’s throat, smiles crookedly at the way Jughead bucks against him, tries to push him off to no avail.

Hiram casually lifts a broad hand, palm flat, and strikes down, hitting Jughead across the cheek hard enough to snap his head to the side, the sound loud and jarring in the enclosed space of the cellar. Jughead gasps, shaken, cheek blooming an angry red around the bruising already there and his hand flies up to cover the sting, eyes screwing shut as he tries to curl in on himself, but Hiram doesn’t let him.

Archie wants to beg, to plead, to yell maybe, but his tongue is stuck to the roof of his mouth and he can’t make it cooperate, can’t make himself delve into something he knows hopelessly will do nothing at all to help. He just sits there and keeps his gaze glued to Jughead’s face as he twists his arms behind the pillar, pulls at the leather that won’t give, regardless of how much it hurts. It’s like the pain is reaching him through a fog, dulled down and barely there.

It’s frightening how seemingly effortlessly Hiram manhandles Jughead, twists Jughead’s arms the way he wants them, wraps the belt he brought along back around Jughead’s wrists until they’re perfectly immobilized and he can press them to the ground above Jughead’s head easily with one hand. Jughead looks small and breakable where ever Hiram touches him, highlighted by the contrast in their physique. Archie can see the fear growing in the widening of Jughead’s eyes, the desperate heaving of his chest and maybe there _i_ s one thing that Archie can do for him, if he can swallow down his own fear and despair long enough.

“Jug-” Archie starts, voice insistent. “Jug, look at me!”

And Jughead does, twists his head so he can meet Archie’s gaze, stares back at Archie with wide, panicky eyes, latching on to Archie’s voice like it’s a lifeline even as Hiram shoves up Jughead’s shirt with rough fingers. Scoots down onto Jughead’s thighs so that he can snap open the button and zipper on Jughead’s pants and pull the waistline down far enough to expose his hip, the bone there jutting sharply as Jughead sucks in his stomach to avoid the touch.

“I’m right here with you, OK?” Archie rushes on, desperate to drown out the sound of the blowtorch being worked, of Jughead’s sharp intake of breath as Hiram runs his fingers across the same spot Archie has his own scar. “Just focus on me, focus on my voice. It’s gonna hurt like a bitch, but you’re going to survive. I went through the same thing, remember? And I know that you’re going to be alright. I’m here, I promise.”

Jughead presses is mouth into a grim, frantic line, the cut there pulling taut, breathing harshly through his blood-crusted nose and holds Archie’s gaze.

“How very sweet.” Hiram says mockingly and Archie glances at him just in time to see Augustine hand him the length of steel, the twisted end glowing a bright-hot cherry-red. “One last chance, Archie.”

Archie snaps his head back towards Jughead, eyes wide open, holding onto Jughead until it almost feels like a physical thing. He shakes his head, just once, the motion jerky, arms straining against the pillar.

Archie can pinpoint the exact moment Hiram presses the incandescent iron to Jughead’s skin. There’s a horrible sizzling sound, followed by the scent of burning flesh and Jughead’s whole body convulses. He screws his eyes shut, face twisting up in agony, and screams in a way Archie’s never heard him do before.

The sound pierces right into the core of him and Archie doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to purge it from his memory. He’s not even aware of the fact that he’s yelling as well, kicking his feet across the dirt floor and throwing his weight against the pillar, against his bonds, begging Hiram to stop, until Hiram finally pulls the iron away and Jughead’s scream dies down into a series of choked out sobs and Archie can hear his own voice over the ringing in his ears. He cuts himself off, panting with the effort.

Hiram lets go of Jughead, gets to his feet and steps away, branding iron still dangling loosely from his hand and Jughead curls into himself and towards Archie, his knees pressed against Archie’s hip and his forehead to Archie’s calf, face pale, cheeks wet and blotchy red. He’s sucking in shocky little hitching breaths, makes a small, wounded sound in the back of his throat on every other exhale, bound hands clasped white-knuckled around the edges of the wound and Archie can feel the aftershocks against his leg, every tremor that has Jughead jerking in the dirt. Archie’s own brand, long since healed, throbs furiously.

Archie wrestles his breathing back under control enough so that he can start talking again, pushes down on the feeling of shock and displacement as hard as he can. “It’s OK- It’s OK, it’s over. You’re done. You’re going to be alright.”

Stupidly goes on like that, babbling, until he can feel Jughead begin to calm down, long lashes clumping together against his cheeks and sobbing quietly as he tries to pull himself back together in fractions, waiting for the pain to recede. Which it won’t, not for a while, Archie knows.

“I wouldn’t go so far as to say that it’s over.” Hiram says and Archie’s head snaps up to him, Jughead shuddering helplessly against his side.

Hiram walks towards them again and Archie fixes disbelieving eyes on him as Jughead shifts closer, pulls his hands away from his hip to tangle them into the bottom of Archie’s shirt and, half in Archie’s lap, presses his face to Archie’s thigh. Wet spots soaking into the fabric of his jeans, making it stick to Archie’s skin.

Archie feels shell shocked, barely holding himself together and Hiram just smiles down at the two of them, like a man admiring his handiwork.

Archie pulls up his knees as far as he can without displacing Jughead, the wild and delusional notion that he can somehow shield him from Hiram bubbling up out of no-where, shakes his head ‘no’, like he has any power at all. Jughead makes a pained little sound at being jostled and turns his head to press his face against Archie’s stomach, struggling to even out his breathing.

Hiram huffs, amused at the display, it seems, his shadow stretching out across Archie and Jughead’s curled up form. “I didn’t know the two of you were quite this... _close._ ”

“It’s a bit cliched, maybe.” Hiram muses as he crouches down next to them, looking Jughead over carefully. “But I suppose it’s understandable. The two of you alone on the road together. It must get lonely, I’d imagine. All of those long, cold nights. Seeking comfort in one another is natural enough. Though I really wouldn’t have expected that kind of thing form you Archie, Riverdale’s very own all American teen.”

Jughead’s frame goes stiff against Archie’s side and Archie can feel the same happening to himself, muscles tightening and eyes widening, incredulous, feeling caught out in a way that makes his stomach sink and his pulse race.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He forces the words out as if the denial is going to make a difference. Hiram has a way of looking at people and seeing right down to the core of them like no-one else Archie’s ever met. Except for Jughead maybe.

“Oh, Archie. It is a bit disappointing, I suppose. But in the end, a pretty face is a pretty face, I suppose” And Hiram reaches out to run his fingers through Jughead’s thick hair, tangled and matted with sweat but still soft. Tightens his grip until he can use it as a handle to pull Jughead’s face away form Archie’s stomach, exposing it to the light. Jughead winces and glares up at Hiram, puffy eyes and sticky cheeks transforming an expression that was meant to be threatening into something pitiful instead. All Archie wants to do is snap off Hiram’s fingers one by one. “Did you know that some cultures still don’t see men that fuck other men as ‘gay’? That label is specifically reserved for the ‘receiving’ partner. It’s a strange idea, if you ask me, but one a lot of men would cling to fiercely. So maybe that means your carefully cultivated image of yourself can remain intact. However delusional it may be.”

“You’re a sick bastard, you know that?” Archie spits, face flaming and hands balled into impotent fists, nails digging into the palms of his hands and wrists straining against the leather. For once Jughead is completely quiet, a fraught line of tension against his side, no smart remarks, nothing to say.

“So I’ve been told.” Hiram says, uncaring, raising a taunting eyebrow. “But what about you Archie? Are you really as pure as you like to believe? What would my daughter think of you if she knew you’d replace her so easily? And all for what? Convenience’s sake? Just couldn’t keep it in your pants?”

“What? No! I don’t- I _love_ Veronica!” Archie stammers out desperately, trying so hard to ignore the way Jughead flinches at his words.

Hiram laughs, darkly delighted, like Archie is a particularity interesting circus animal. “So that means _Jughead_ is the one you’re using, then. Like a neat little plaything that you’re going to discard as soon as the opportunity for something better arises? How unexpectedly cruel of you, Archie.”

“I-,” Archie starts stupidly, but he doesn’t know what to say, how to go on. He glances at Jughead, but Jug has his eyes fixed firmly on a spot just above Hiram’s shoulder, gaze hard and mouth twisted up in an ugly grimace, unable to hide the hurt underneath, and Archie thinks in a rare moment of clarity, feeling sick to his stomach, ‘isn’t that exactly what I’ve been doing?’.

Hiram lets his hand trail down Jughead’s cheek, tracing a broad thumb thoughtfully over Jughead’s full bottom lip, pulling at it to reveal glimpses of his charmingly crooked teeth, Jughead’s eyes snapping back to Hiram at the unwanted touch, and Archie feels himself sinking deeper into that dark well of despair that’s opened up in the center of his chest, flailing uselessly. A lump thick and heavy clogging up his throat.

“Why don’t we have a closer look, then? See what it was you liked enough to make you abandon your morals like that? To turn your back on my daughter?” Hiram asks mockingly, a hard glint in his eyes, and pushes at Jughead’s shoulders to twist him onto his back, his hair brushing ticklishly against Archie’s lower stomach and rucking up his shirt.

Jughead doesn’t manage to bite back the yelp at being jostled around, the rough handling no doubt upsetting his wound and brings up his bound hands to shove at Hiram, eyebrows furrowing deeply. Paying no mind at all to being gentle, Hiram pushes up Jughead’s shirt, dirt and blood-stained as it is and pulls it over his head and down his arms until it ends up tangled around Jughead’s wrists over the belt tying them together.

The last layer pealed away from Jughead’s lean, heaving chest, Archie gets a good look at the damage for the first time. Blotches of purple, blue and red, yellowing out at the edges, spread across his ribs near the center of his chest and to the right. On his hip, where his undone khakis hang low, the fresh brand is a horrible mess of skin seared away from flesh, the area around it swollen and angry red, leaking sticky, pinkish trails down his hip.

Something inside of Archie, just beneath his breastbone, splinters at the sight, comes loose like a can of rattling marbles and he feels like he can’t breathe right, like he’s underwater and there’s no air left to pull into his lungs. He wants to say something, anything, but he can’t find the words and Hiram bluntly ignores him as he tugs Jughead’s pants down his thighs and off together with his socks, Jughead’s boxers the last remaining piece of clothing. Jughead kicks out, but flinches and chokes on a yell when the abrupt movement pulls on the skin around the brand. Archie doesn’t think he’s ever felt this devastatingly powerless in his entire life.

Dropping Jughead’s pants to the side carelessly, Hiram takes a step back and lets his eyes wander, brows raised condescendingly. Jughead screws up his face against the pain as he struggles to push himself upright, scooting back until he’s leaning partially against Archie’s side and partially against the pillar Archie is tied to, breathing hard with his chin raised defiantly.

“I suppose attraction is subjective enough but I’m afraid I don’t quite see the appeal. Pretty, yes. But a little too scrappy for my taste. I don’t think the stench of trailer trash ever quite washes off, no matter how hard you try to pretend. I wouldn’t want to get my hands dirty.” Hiram muses, almost regretfully. His eyes flick over to Augustine, standing not too far away, blowtorch and branding iron discarded for the moment, Hiram’s jacket and tie slung tidily over one arm, shifting almost imperceptibly. “But then again, I guess I don’t really need to.”

“I’m getting tired of asking, Archie, but I am going to do it one more time.” Hiram says, eyes cold as they meet Archie’s, ice brushing against fire, because Archie feels hot all over. Flushed and feverish and Jughead’s bare, shivering back against his arm and shoulder highlights both of their vulnerability in a away that makes it hard to think clearly. “Who helped you? Give me those names, Archie. You know you can’t keep this up and neither can Jughead. It’s only a matter of time before one of you snaps and my money is firmly on you, Archie.”

“Why don’t we stop pretending like that’s anything other than an inept excuse to hide the fact that you’re getting off on torturing a couple of underage kids.” Jughead’s voice sounds brittle, just one wrong twist away from breaking, but he keeps pushing on, regardless of the way Hiram’s eyes narrow dangerously. Archie can feel every shudder that Jughead presses into his side to hide it, every subtle hitch of breath and it resonates in his chest like Archie is a tuning fork. “Does your wife know about this side of you? Does Veronica? Do you think she could hate you any more, if she found out?”

“Well, it’s a good thing neither of them will.” Hiram shoots back coolly, gaze gone hard and he steps over to Augustine to take back his jacket and tie, whispers something into his ear that makes a dark, crooked smile spread slowly across the man’s face. “Make it entertaining.” Hiram tags on for the rest of them to hear. Then he takes up a spot on Archie’s other side, leaning his hip against the wooden pillar and crossing his arms loosely like a man settling in to enjoy the spectacle.

Archie glances back and forth between the two of them. He can feel Jughead go rigid against his side, breath quickening and when Archie looks over, Jughead is staring wide-eyed up at Augustine. A new kind of fear on his face, one that makes him look young and small in a way he hadn’t up until now, as Augustine slowly advances.

Archie doesn’t get what’s happening, not really. Or maybe he doesn’t want to.

Hiram must see the confusion on his face, because he bends down slightly, voice low and conspiratorial. “Relax, Archie. You and I are going to sit back and enjoy the show for a while. Since my tactics haven’t been yielding the desired results I thought I’d switch things up a little. See, Augustine, reliable but simple as he is, doesn’t have the same high standards as I do. And when he sees something he likes, he doesn’t have any particular qualms about taking it. All he needs is my permission.”

“What are you-?” Archie starts, but Augustine’s looming shadow cuts him off and his eyes are drawn away form Hiram.

“Archie-”, Jughead breathes, quiet and urgent and Archie twists his neck to look at him, to catch the too prominent white of his eyes beneath the black waves of his fringe, pleading with him, though for what, Archie never finds out.

Augustine grabs hold of Jughead’s bound wrists, fingers closing around the tangled fabric of his shirt and pulls Jughead up onto his feet. Jughead makes a high, scared noise in the back of his throat that feels like a sharp-edged knife slipping in between Archie’s ribs and angling straight for his heart. Augustine practically frog-marches Jughead to the center of the room. Not too far away, but just out of reach. Jughead hadn’t sounded like that when Hiram dragged him across the floor to put a brand on his hip and it scares Archie more than he can say.

It’s a terrible contrast, Augustine tall and broad, dressed in his immaculate suite, even the jacket still on, while Jughead is wearing nothing but his checkered boxers, bare feet pale against the dark earth of the cellar floor, and Archie doesn’t want to see where this is going, fights the rising comprehension as hard as he can. Because he doesn’t think he can take it. He doesn’t think a sane, whole version of himself can exist in the same realm in which this is happening.

Augustine shrugs out of his suit jacket without letting go of Jughead, lets it drop to the floor and spreads it out haphazardly. Then he spins Jughead around to face him, tangles a broad hand into the hair at the back of Jughead’s head and pulls until Jughead is looking up at him, teeth bared and mouth twisted up in pain, hands trapped between his own chest and Augustine’s.

Augustine tightens his grip on Jughead’s hair until Jughead screws his eyes shut against the sting and gasps, then uses that opening and leans in, mouth pressing to Jughead’s in a horrible imitation of a kiss. Archie sees a flash of tongue and Jughead makes a small choked off sound and shoves at Augustine’s chest, but with no leverage behind it.

Then, startling Archie bad enough to make him flinch, Augustine yelps and jerks back, shoves Jughead so hard that Jughead stumbles and hits the ground in a miserable heap, air driven out of his lungs by the impact. Eyes hard and heated Augustine stares down at him and tilts his head to the side so that he can spit a glob of red into the dirt, lifts a hand to wipe blood from his lip and Archie realizes that Jughead _bit_ him. Hiram snorts, clearly amused by the display and raises an eyebrow at Augustine as if to ask ‘are you sure you can handle yourself?’.

Eyes narrowed and smile turning mean Augustine bends down and manhandles Jughead around until he’s lying on the discarded suit jacket on his back. Then sinks to his knees between Jughead’s scrambling legs and leans in to wrap a wide palm around Jughead’s throat and squeeze, Jughead’s eyes going wide and his mouth dropping open, bound hands flying up to grasp at Augustine’s forearm. It’s a cruel mimicry of what Hiram had done the night before, only Augustine isn’t cutting off Jughead’s airflow completely, just restricting it. Archie can hear the way Jughead struggles to draw in breath after breath, labored and panicking.

Augustine’s other hand runs down Jughead’s chest, appraising, fingers brushing across a dark nipple peaked from the cool of the cellar and making Jughead shudder, dipping into the light ridges between Jughead’s ribs and spreading out across Jughead’s stomach, heaving and unable to escape the touch. Moving lower, past Jughead’s navel, along the soft trail of dark hair that dips below the waistband of his boxers, the heel of his hand pressing down there, the pad of his thumb grazing the edges of the wound on Jughead’s hip just so.

Jughead whines and keeps fighting him, keeps trying to twist away from Augustine’s hands, bucking against them, but his struggles are growing weaker, limbs uncoordinated and Augustine takes his time, uses his leisure as a weapon to drive home just how in control he is, just how powerless that makes Jughead. Archie tries desperately to catch Jughead’s gaze, but Jughead screws his eyes shut instead, fresh tear tracks trailing out from the corners and down his temples until they get lost in his hairline.

Archie watches on, wide-eyed and completely helpless as Augustine’s hand slips lower, cupping Jughead through his boxers and starts to rub his palm back and forth, trying to coax a reaction out of Jughead. Choking on his next breath, Jughead’s legs draw up and snap closed over Augustine’s hand, trying to curl in on himself, but it doesn’t stop Augustine’s movements and there’s a flush, stark and blotchy, beginning to spread from Jughead’s scrunched up face, down his neck and across his collar bone, labored breaths coming harder, faster.

Blood rushing to his head, Archie realizes that it’s working, that Augustine is getting Jughead worked up despite everything, that Jughead can’t fight his body’s reaction to being touched regardless of the revulsion and pain that’s drawing the lines of his face taut. The white noise in Archie’s ears only gets louder when Augustine peals back the waistband of Jughead’s boxers so that he can pull out Jughead’s hardening dick, the head swollen and dark as it curls against the soft stretch of Jughead’s stomach and Jughead makes a horrible little sound, his hands clenching white-knuckled around Augustine’s wrist, arms straining.

Archie feels dizzy, limbs heavy, a wad of cotton stuffed into his brain, drowning out his thoughts as Augustine brings his free hand up to Jughead’s mouth, three of his thick fingers pushing in past Jughead’s pink, bruised lips and pressing down on his tongue. Sliding further in until Jughead chokes around them, a thin line of spit sliding slowly down across his cheek as he coughs and tries to dislodge the intrusion. Eyes flying open, panicked, to stare up at Augustine, who just leers down at him, pupils dilated and teeth stained red, and crooks his fingers, dragging the pads over Jughead’s tongue, twisting them around to get them coated in saliva.

Pulling the digits from Jughead’s mouth Augustine leans in close until he can whisper something into Jughead’s ear, something that makes Jughead shake his head and hiccup out a sob as Augustine’s wet fingers trace his cheek, leaving behind a glistening line.

Moving back, eyes trained intently on Jughead’s face, tongue darting out to wet his lips, Augustine shoves his hand beneath the waistband of Jughead’s boxers, only this time pushing back and angling lower, then bearing down. Jughead freezes for a second, then chokes out a strangled moan and arches his back, trying to get away, but unable to.

Archie can’t see what exactly Augustine is doing, but it’s hard not to imagine, hard not to picture it as Jughead’s breathing grows more ragged, thighs shaking where they clench helplessly around Augustine’s forearm, crying openly. Every now and again a jolt runs through Jughead’s frame, body jerking and mouth falling open wider on shocky moans, pained little noises he can’t contain, and amongst the mess of heat and rushing blood, breathing hard and desperately fighting to maintain control over himself, Archie can feel himself begin to react.

The realization that he’s starting to grow hard in his jeans hits him like a ton of bricks and he’s never in his entire life wished more fervently that he could make the ground open up beneath him and swallow him whole. To make it like he was never a part of this fucked up world in the first place. It’s horrible, _mortifying_ , and so, so _wrong_ , but there’s nothing he can do to stop it.

In a despairing attempt to shut out the scene Archie closes his eyes, screws them shut as tightly as he can, futile though it may be, but just a moment later a hand fists into his hair and pulls until his eyes snap open again. Hiram uses his grip to angle Archie’s head toward Jughead and Augustine and leans down, voice a dark hum as he speaks into Archie’s ear. “Oh, no, Archie. You’re going to watch every second of this. And while you do you’re going to know that all of it is happening because of you. That it’s your fault and yours alone. And that all you have to do to stop it is tell me what I want to know.”

Archie doesn’t even try to hold back the sob that bubbles up on his next breath, doesn’t fight the tears that burn his eyes and slide across the feverish skin of his cheeks. It’s a fight he can’t win. A hopeless endeavor as Augustine lets go of Jughead’s throat so that he can wrestle him out of his boxers, leaves Jughead naked and shaking, hands wrapped around his throat like a shield and sucking in air like he doesn’t know how long he’ll be allowed to. Augustine pushes Jughead around, rolls him onto his stomach and then grabs him by the hips until he’s on his knees and elbows. His grip must catch the brand because Jughead cries out and almost collapses, but Augustine shifts his hand and holds him up. Arms shaking and head bowed Jughead stays where Augustine wants him as Augustine undoes his belt and the button and zipper on his dress pants with practiced ease.

One broad palm pushing up to follow the length of Jughead’s curved spine and back down again, muscles twitching helplessly under the touch, Augustine breathes a quiet sigh of relief as he pulls his dick out of his briefs. Angry red and swollen it cants upwards, the head sticky with pre-come, thick and imposing like the rest of him and Archie watches on in silent horror as Augustine spits into his hand once, then again and uses that to coat his length before he lines himself up against Jughead’s ass.

His free hand slides to one pale, round buttock and pulls, exposing Jughead further and then he cants his hips forward, shoving the head of his dick against the tightly furled muscle of Jughead’s asshole, building up pressure slowly, relentlessly. Jughead’s fingers grasp at the packed dirt of the cellar floor like blunt little claws and he jerks forward, mouth falling open on a strangled, keening sound, but Augustine moves his hand from Jughead’s ass so that he can wrap his arm around Jughead’s hips instead, this time mindful of the wound, holding him in place.

Jughead sags forward, face pressed against his forearms, his sides shaking with the strain of trying to breathe through the pain, mouth hanging open as the volume of the involuntary noises he’s making rises. Augustine pushes harder, moves his hips in small little thrusting motions until one goes deeper than before and Jughead sobs out a broken sound, a wail almost, mouth pressed to the skin of his arm, body pulling taut as a steel wire as the head of Augustine’s dick pushes into him.

Instead of giving Jughead a moment to catch his breath and adjust to the girth of the intrusion, Augustine keeps going, shoves his hips forward unrelentingly. Jughead shakes his head against his arms, fingers digging grooves into the dirt, back arching outward.

“Wait!” Jughead chokes out, voice high and panicked, syllables jumbling as his tongue wraps around them clumsily in between hitching breaths. “Wait! I can’t – I don’t – _please,_ I -”

The rest of his words cut off into a scream when Augustine snaps his hips forward in a brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt, the gaping v of his dress pants pressed against Jughead’s naked backside.

“Like I said, Archie,” Hiram practically purrs into Archie’s ear, voice dripping with malice. “You should have killed me when you had the chance.”

It’s more than Archie can take. Augustine leans forward, covering Jughead’s trembling back and sets up a rhythm meant to be cruel, making Jughead cry out with every thrust, arms threatening to give out and knees sliding across the silk lining of Augustine’s jacket as Jughead tries to open them wider to ease the pressure. The words, though Archie guesses with a devastating kind of hopelessness that they won’t serve to make anything better at all, start to rise up his throat and spill from his mouth like acid.

“I’m sorry!” Archie’s voice breaks, rushed and just barely audible over the heartbreaking rise of Jughead’s agonized moans and the counter point of Augustine’s grunts as he fucks into him. “I made a mistake! I never should have gone against you! I should have just done what you told me to! I’ll never make that mistake again! I swear on everything I love that I’ll be the loyalest henchman in your posse, I’ll never question a word you say, never hesitate and you can order me around however you please. I’ll be yours for the rest of my life, however you want me, I don’t care, just _stop hurting him_! I’m begging you!”

“I’m afraid it’s a little too late for that.” Hiram says, voice hard but oh, so pleased. “You had your chance and you blew it, Archie. Now man up and deal with the consequences.”

Augustine’s free hand slides along Jughead’s heaving side, across his chest, his collarbone, and up until he can wrap it around Jughead’s chin and use it to lift his face up from where Jughead has it pressed against his forearms. Tilts it so that both Hiram and Archie can get a good look at the mess Augustine has made out of Jughead. The way his lips are bitten red from trying to keep in the high-pitched noises Augustine keeps punching out of him in and failing, cut re-opened and bleeding sluggishly, the way his cheeks are blotchy and sticky with a mix of tears and sweat, his bangs plastered to his forehead in messy, tangled strands, the way he refuses to open his eyes and face either of them.

In Archie’s head everything narrows down to that, to Jughead’s face, the image burning itself into his memory like the brand Hiram pressed to Jughead’s hip, like the mirroring wound on Archie’s, hot, smoldering, a quiet inferno that burns him from the inside out, something that will follow him into his nightmares for the rest of his life and in his jeans, inexplicably, his traitorous dick strains painfully against the hard line of the zipper.

Jughead isn’t even half-hard anymore, the hurt so overpowering it must drown out any trace of unwanted arousal and Augustine isn’t trying to make it good for him, hips aiming only to take, mind set on his own pleasure and on pleasing Hiram.

Augustine presses his mouth to the back of Jughead’s neck, tongue darting out, then shudders and jerks back, pulling out of Jughead, who collapses into a panting, shaking heap without Augustine holding him up. A frown of concentration twisting his brows Augustine jerks himself once, twice and then grunts as he comes, taking care to paint stripes of sticky white all across Jughead’s lower back. Jughead winces weakly, but doesn’t try to move, just buries his face against his tangled t-shirt, muffling the sound of his crying.

Hiram lets go of Archie’s hair and gives him a look like Archie is a dog refusing to do the tricks he’s been taught, cold and somewhat disappointed. “I honestly didn’t think you’d be this stubborn.” Hiram muses. Sighs and walks over to where Augustine has gotten to his feet and is in the process of tucking himself away and straightening out his suit. Looks down at where Jughead is curled up on Augustine’s jacket and uses the tip of his shoe to nudge Jughead’s side, who flinches at the touch but stays otherwise still. “What a waste. You’re going to have to get that suit jacket thoroughly cleaned once we get back to Riverdale.”

“I’ve had enough for tonight, I think.” Hiram declares and turns towards the stairs, before he adds directed at Augustine,“I’ll leave you to clean up the mess.”

~*~*~


	3. Chapter three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at me, keeping my deadline..
> 
> If I'd have known this last part would turn out be this effing long, I'd have split the previous chapters up differently, but oh well...  
> We're finally done, guys. Hope you enjoyed this as much, as I did! 
> 
> Thank you for sticking with me ;)

~*~*~

Augustine gathers up Jughead’s clothes and tosses them at him, one piece at a time, before returning to him and crouching down near his head. Jughead tries to pull away when Augustine reaches for his arms, but his limbs are uncooperative and his attempt falls short. Augustine huffs at him, annoyed, and shoves Jughead’s t-shirt away from his wrists so that he can untie the belt holding them together. Then he pats Jughead’s cheek unkindly and gets back to his feet.

“Get dressed or I’m tying you to the pillar naked.”

Jughead scrambles to comply, but his movements are slow and jerky and his hands are shaking so badly he drops his boxers twice before he gets them sorted and can pull them back up over his legs, face contorted and mouth pressed into a thin, bloodless line as he struggles. Socks and pants come next, though he leaves the button and zipper open, the elastic of his boxers hanging low on one hip, so as not to touch the brand, movements tender whenever he comes near it. He pulls his t-shirt over his head after only a brief moment of hesitation, the fabric sticking to his back, come staining through and he grimaces and winces when he pulls at the hem.

As soon as Jughead is done, Augustine hauls him up, hands wrapped firmly around Jughead’s biceps, and pulls Jughead with him to the pillar across from Archie. Jughead shuffles along, legs stiff and gait hitching as he tries to keep up and he’s so pale underneath the flush high on his cheeks and the bruises on his skin that he almost looks like a ghost.

Augustine pushes Jughead to the ground and against the pillar and ties him back up, then gathers the things he brought with him, the gloves, the portable blowtorch and the branding iron, lifts his jackets up from the dirt and gives it a quick shake, and makes to leave. He casts one last look back at the two of them, Archie and Jughead, taking in the state of them with a crooked smirk pulling on the corners of his mouth as his eyes linger on Jughead, self-satisfied, then pulls out his phone and switches on the flash light app before pulling the string for the light in the cellar, plunging them into almost darkness.

It becomes complete the moment Augustine closes the cellar door behind himself, lock clicking back into place firmly.

~*~*~

The dark is so much worse this time around.

Archie can hardly bring himself to calm down, unable to stop crying, though more quietly now, as he listens for Jughead and tries desperately to stop his mind from replaying the horrors of the past hour or so when his eyes have nothing to focus on but the impenetrable blackness all around him. Jughead’s breathing sounds loud and labored across form him, growing faster and more uneven instead of slowing down.

There was this girl in 8th grade, who used to get panic attacks in class sometimes. Her name was Amy, a little overweight but with a cute smile, the kind of girl who’d let you copy her homework if you asked nicely and promised to try harder next time. She moved out of town a year later and Archie never saw her again. The point is, though, that Archie still remembers the first time she had one of her attacks, in the middle of an English lit class, because the experience had been so jarring for his younger self. He remembers the way she’d looked, the way she’d _sounded_ loosing it.

Just the way Jughead is sounding now. Like he’s spiraling and Archie tries desperately to remember what to do, tries to calm himself down enough so that he can think and fails, caught on the verge of being sucked into that downward spiral himself. He stretches his legs out and shifts them around, searching, until his right ankle bumps against Jughead’s.

Jughead makes one of those scared little noises from before and flinches away from him and Archie feels a little like someone just sucker punched him. He doesn’t try to follow, just sits there, shaking with leftover adrenaline and shock and tries to find something he can say to break the silence, something that won’t make either of them shatter into a million pieces.

“Jug...” He starts, voice so rough he barely recognizes it, but trails off, not knowing how to continue.

“Don’t.” Jughead chokes out, sounding painfully young and raw, pleading. “Just don’t.”

So Archie snaps his mouth shut and sits in the dark quietly, feeling isolated, unmoored in an ocean of black, with no points of contact left between the two of them. Some hard and bitter part of himself thinks, that maybe he deserves this, that he has no right to touch Jughead anymore. Not with the way he’s still half-hard in his jeans, the persistent, heavy rush of blood keeping his body’s betrayal alive and well, dying down much too slowly, and the knowledge that he got that way watching Augustine -. Archie cuts himself off, before he can slip into something he won’t be able to come back from.

All he can do is listen to Jughead fall apart, so close and at the same time completely unreachable and in the middle of it all, the terrible certainty creeps in and sinks its hooks into the raw mess of his insides that they’re not going to get out of this alive. That they are going to die here, broken and alone, that he’ll never get to see Ronnie’s face again, or his parents’, or Betty’s, that he’ll never get to say good-bye and none of them will ever know what really happened to him. They’ll spend the rest of their lives wondering, with no chance for closure and Hiram’s shadow looming over them, poisoning everything they hold dear as he slowly snatches up every last part of Riverdale, twists it into something ugly and rotten until what once was his childhood home is nothing more than a distant memory. A relic slowly crumbling in the fallen night.

Hiram did say, that at some point death would become preferable to the alternative and Archie quietly wonders how much longer it will take to get there.

~*~*~

Archie only realizes that he must have passed out somehow, when he jerks back to consciousness, eyes snapping open to the same darkness he’d seen in his dreams and confused as to what woke him. He can tell by the sound of his quickening breathing that Jughead is awake, too, but for a moment that’s the only other sound in the cellar.

Then there’s the creek of rusting hinges as the cellar door gets opened carefully and it must have been the sound of the padlock being removed and the bar pulled back that made Archie startle out of awake. It jump-starts Archie’s pulse, heart racing in his chest. Strangely, there’s no light streaming in with the sound. It’s still night out, no trace of dawn graying the skies overhead, but there’s no lantern lighting the path of their ‘visitor’ either. Not until the door closes again and a flashlight finally klicks on, blinding Archie for a long moment.

He squints his eyes and blinks a couple of times until his vision clears and he can see Laurie’s stiff form come into focus and slowly he relaxes again. She’s standing at the foot of the stairs, flashlight in one hand, a thermos like the one she’d brought them water in the night before in her other. Archie’s not sure if it’s the harsh glare of the flashlight causing the effect, but from what he can see she looks drawn and tired, dark circles under her eyes and a hard set to her mouth.

She walks over to them, drops to her knees next to Jughead and sets the flashlight down on the ground, beam pointed so it won’t blind them. She starts unscrewing the lid of the thermos as she looks Jughead over, expression grim, the muscles in her jaw taut. Jughead looks awful, paler still than he was before, now that the flush has drained from his cheeks, face drawn into a grimace and covered with a thin sheen of sweat even though the cellar is almost uncomfortably cool. His clothes wrinkled and stained, smudges of dark earth, blood at his collar. Eyes darting around, skittish as they land on Laurie’s face but slide off to the side again like he’s trying to make himself meet her gaze but keeps failing.

Brows furrowed, Laurie touches the back of her hand to Jughead’s forehead. He startles at the contact, flinching and hissing air through his teeth. Laurie’s frown deepens as she looks him over more closely. Her eyes land on his hip, where a stain has soaked through his t-shirt, sticking the fabric to his skin. When she reaches out as if to touch, Jughead shrinks back and shakes his head.

“Don’t.” He warns her, voice like gravel in his bruised throat, but, eyes narrowing, Laurie doesn’t let herself be deterred.

“Let me see.” She says sternly. Her hands, though, are gentle and slow as she carefully takes hold of the hem of Jughead’s shirt and peels it away from his skin. Jughead still screws his eyes shut and gasps, trying to breathe through the pain, and Archie can imagine much too vividly how badly it must hurt, the memory of those first few days after his own branding stark and aweful.

When she sees the wound, swollen and an angry, feverish red, she sucks in a breath and lets go of Jughead’s t-shirt, jerking to her feet and striding back and forth in the narrow space of the cellar, hands washing over her face. After a moment she turns back towards them, her eyes on Archie this time, a much too familiar kind of despair turning them bright beneath the hard edges.

“Why?” She asks Archie, sounding accusing, like Archie is the one who put that brand on Jughead’s skin and not Hiram. In a horrible kind of way, she might as well be right. “What did you do to Hiram Lodge to make him hate you that much?”

And, God, Archie doesn’t even know where to begin. Jughead, voice shaking but gaining strength as he speaks, saves him once again. “The place we’re from, Riverdale. Where Hiram has your dad and your brother working for him. Hiram is doing the same thing to Riverdale he did to this town, taking it over bit by bit, twisting it around, trying to destroy it so he can rebuild it the way he wants. We tried to stop him and it got personal, I guess.” Those last couple of words sound so bitter it’s almost painful.

“The girl I told you about, before you - “ Archie starts and trails off, tries again. “The girl I fell in love with, she’s his daughter.”

That softens Laurie’s expression somewhat, so Archie goes on. “I got to know Hiram through her and for a while I even kind of liked him. I wanted to make her happy, Veronica, you know. Be part of her family and I got sucked into Hiram’s shady business. It took me way too long to see who he really was, but once I did, I couldn’t go back. I turned my back on him, and he blames me for that and for turning his daughter against him.”

Laurie’s eyes slide away from his, teeth worrying her bottom lip, like she’s fighting some kind of internal battle. Then, back straightening and shoulders pulling back, a determined set to her jaw, her gaze finds his again.

“He’s going to kill you, both of you.” She says, voice hard. “Tomorrow. I heard him and his driver talk. He’s had enough of you being stubborn.”

Archie swallows thickly, staring up at her, waiting.

“But you’re not going to be here tomorrow.” She finally tags on with a hardened kind of resolve, like she just made that decision for herself, then starts moving again, suddenly hurried.

Letting out a breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding Archie sags against the pillar, the flood of relief that washes over him so heady it makes him dizzy. Laurie crouches down behind him so that she can untie his wrists, then walks over to get the thermos. Archie hardly has enough time to rub feeling back into his hands before she pushes the thermos against his chest and he scrambles to catch it before it falls.

“Take care of your friend. But be quiet about. And wait here.” Laurie jerks her chin in Jughead’s direction, then turns towards the stairs, leaving the flashlight behind. Turning back one more time, she adds, “Don’t turn on the overhead light.”

Then she slips through the door and into the night.

Archie winces as he moves, everything hurts, inside and out, but he pushes through it, through the dizziness and nausea of not having eaten for more than 24 hours, grits his teeth and keeps going until his limbs give up their struggle and cooperate as they should. He staggers over to Jughead and fumbles with the belt around his wrists, clumsy at first, fingers slipping on the leather, but he manages to get him loose eventually.

Then he hurries back around to Jughead’s side, kneeling next to him and unscrewing the thermos so that he can wrap Jughead’s shaking hands around it. Jughead lifts it to his lips and drinks carefully, pulling the mouth of the thermos away to catch his breath, then repeating the motion. Once he’s done, he hands it off to Archie, still half full judging from the weight of it, and drags the back of his hand across his mouth.

Archie mimics Jughead and he’s not sure he’s ever drank anything that tasted or felt this good. He makes himself stop before he can finish the water, though, and pushes the thermos back into Jughead’s hands. Jughead furrows his brows like he’s going to object, but Archie cuts him off.

“We don’t have time to argue. You need it more than I do.”

Jughead gives in and takes the flask, head falling back as he sags against the pillar. Leaving him to it Archie picks up the flashlight and walks over to the corner of the stairs, where their jackets and shoes and Jughead’s camera, suspenders and checkered shirt are still piled up in a lazy heap. Discarded and forgotten. He shrugs into his own jacket and pulls on his shoes over dirty socks, tying them as quickly as he can, then grabs Jughead’s things and hurries back over to him. On the way, Archie’s eyes catch on Jughead’s beanie, an unshapely lump of gray wool against the dirt floor, still laying where it had fallen when Hiram had dragged Jughead around that first day. He bends down and snatches it up, hurries on before the lump of _something_ in his throat can choke him and break his resolve. Function now, break down later he tells himself sternly.

Archie has to help Jughead get dressed. Jughead tries, but his limbs are shaky and sluggish and his face contorts whit every movement. The moment he gets his hands on his beanie, though, he shoves it onto his head and pulls it down until it covers his ears, never mind the state that his hair is in, then cups his hands over the wool like he’s afraid it’ll disappear once he lets go. Getting Jughead to his feet takes some work, a series of pained groans and a couple of curses tagged on for good measure, and Archie has to keep his arm wrapped firmly around Jughead’s back to keep him from keeling over once he’s up. Archie starts walking them toward the door, but Jughead pulls at him, voice strained as he presses out, “Wait, wait. Give me a second.”

Glancing down, Archie can see what the problem is. Jughead’s khakies, still unfastened, are slipping and Jughead clutches at them to keep them on his hips. The problem is the brand, set too low to avoid if Jughead fastens his pants but it’s not working like this either. Before Archie can come up with an option C, Jughead steels himself, draws in a deep breath and holds it as he pulls the waistline of his pants taut over his hips and fastens them, movements quick and jerky. Air gusts out of Jughead’s lungs and he clutches at the back of Archie’s jacket for a moment, trying to steady himself against the pain.

“Alright.” He chokes out and Archie drapes Jughead’s arm across his shoulders, mindful of Jughead’s chafed wrist, holding on to his forearm instead, so that he can better support Jughead as they move.

They reach the stairs just as Laurie pulls the cellar door open again and peers down at them, a hand shielding her eyes from the beam of the flashlight and Archie lowers it apologetically. She hurries down the stairs carrying with her both Archie’s backpack and Jughead’s navy sack.

“They were still in the barn.” She says curtly, dropping them to the floor at Archie’s feet.

Archie glances at their things, then over at Jughead before returning his gaze to Laurie. “I don’t think we’ll be able to take both of those with us.”

“Well,” Laurie presses out, patience wearing thin, “if you’re going to repack you better do it quick.”

Archie helps Jughead steady himself before pulling away. Jughead sways precariously for a moment, but keeps his footing, one hand pressed hard to his side next to the brand. “Take the backpack. All I’ve got in mine are a couple changes of clothes and a flask.”

Archie nods, opens both his backpack and Jughead’s navy sack, hands fumbling as he pulls out the topmost pair of jeans and two t-shirts of his and swaps them out for as many of Jughead’s clothes as he can fit. Then he heaves the backpack on and gets to his feet to return to Jughead’s side, pulling Jughead’s arm back over his shoulders. He strains a little under the extra weight, but he manages.

Laurie takes the flashlight from him and covers the beam up with her hand until it’s nothing more than a blood-red glow, just enough to not loose her in the dark as she moves ahead of them. She leads them out of the cellar and across the yard. Over to the looming shape of the barn, the silhouette darker than the night sky with its smattering of stars, and through to the fields beyond. They have to climb over the wooden fence delimiting the crop and for a moment Archie thinks Jughead isn’t going to make it, but Jughead clenches his teeth and lets Archie help him and together they manage.

Laurie accompanies them to the other side of the field, where the fence runs along the same dirt road they’d been on when they first got here what feels like a lifetime ago. Archie and Jughead brave the fence a second time, while Laurie stays behind on the other side, turning the flashlight off and handing it over to Archie.

“You should keep moving as long as you possibly can before you stop to rest. And stay off the road.” She says, eyes cast up towards the sky. “You’ve still got a couple of hours before dawn.”

Archie spends a moment searching for words. ‘Thank you’ doesn’t seem right, doesn’t feel right, so instead he settles for, “Are you and Gracie going to be OK?”

“We’ll push through.” Laurie says, not meeting his gaze. “I’ll find a way to make it look like you got out on your own. Now go, before I change my mind.”

Jughead pressed firmly to his side Archie turns away from her and switches the flashlight back on, uses it to guide his way into the night, into freedom. Neither he nor Jughead look back once.

~*~*~

They move as fast as they can, but it still feels painfully slow to Archie. Though Jughead is trying his best, he’s a heavy weight against Archie’s side and while it gets a little easier with time, once they’ve established some sort of rhythm to fall into, it’s still overtly clear that he’s in a lot of pain.

Once the fields peter out and get replaced by smatterings of trees on either side, growing denser as they go, Archie and Jughead abandon the road in favor of the cover they offer. The uneven ground slows them down more, but it still feels safer so they stick to it.

With the first glimpses of dawn breaking through the tree tops, Jughead finally stumbles to a halt, forcing Archie to stop with him.

“Jug, we have to keep going.” Archie tries to get him to start moving again, but Jughead clutches at Archie’s jacket and shakes his head.

“I know.”, Jughead says, trying to catch his breath. “But we’re getting closer to the highway, I’ve been hearing cars for a bit now and I- “ His voice breaks and he swallows hard before correcting himself, “ _We_ need to get out of these clothes and into clean ones. I can’t do anything about my face, but if we show up in public looking the way we do now we’re going to draw way more attention than we want to.”

And, yeah, that’s definitely true enough. Archie hadn’t even thought of that.

With a sigh, Archie helps Jughead lean against a tree and drops the backpack to the ground between them, crouching down to pull out fresh sets of clothes for the both of them. Ever since Laurie stepped into the cellar with them, it’s felt like Archie’s seeing the world through a fog, watching things unfold from a distance and it still feels like maybe he’s dreaming, like he’ll wake up any minute and be back where he was, tied up and hopeless and waiting to die.

But there’s some unnamed force in his chest that breaks through the numbness and the shock and keeps him moving and all he knows is that he needs to follow wherever it leads or they’ll never make it.

He changes first, moving as quickly as he can, pulling a cap over his head to hide most of his hair and part of his face to top it off. Then goes to help Jughead. It’s painstaking and slow going, but Jughead seems desperate to get out of his clothes and when Archie has to peal Jughead’s shirt away from his skin where it’s sticking to his back, Archie realizes why exactly. Jughead still has Augustine’s spunk smeared across his back, has been walking around like that for hours and all of a sudden, Archie can’t get rid of the shirt fast enough.

Hands shaking he fumbles for his own discarded t-shirt and his flask, uses some of the water left in it to wet part of the fabric that’s still reasonably clean and then moves to carefully wipe Jughead’s back clean as best he can. Jughead doesn’t meet his eyes, fixes his gaze on the ground instead, breath hitching as Archie works. After, when they’re both dressed and Jughead doesn’t look like he’s about to faint or throw up any more, Archie repacks his rucksack, wrapping Jughead’s dirty clothes up in his own and stuffing them in. He wants nothing more than to burn them, destroy all evidence of what happened as soon as he can, but they neither have the time nor the means to do that now and they can’t leave behind any sort of breadcrumbs for Hiram to follow once he realizes that they’re gone.

“We need to figure out where we’re going.” Jughead presses out through clenched teeth as they start walking again and it brings Archie up short for a moment. Until now, all he’d been focused on, is keeping them moving, so much so that he hadn’t really thought about the ‘where’ part, forward being the only direction that mattered.

“Any suggestions?” He throws back and desperately hopes that Jughead’s got more than he has.

“We need a place we can lay low for a couple of days. Recuperate and plan our next move.” Jughead continues, pausing on every other word to pull in hitching breaths, leaning on Archie more heavily. “Toledo isn’t that far away. We could find my mom and Jellybean, stay for a bit and then move on to Canada, like you said. It’s the only safe place I can think of.”

Archie can’t come up with a reason to disagree. Except maybe that they’d be putting Jughead’s family in danger, just through their presence, but he’s so desperate to get them somewhere they can get help that he pushes the thought away. Because he can feel something moving in his chest, beneath the numbness of shock, something kept at bay just so by the need to keep going and he doesn’t know how much longer he’ll be able to hold himself together.

~*~*~

Once they hit the highway, they start following it through the trees.

By mid-morning they come across a gas station in the middle of no-where and Archie leaves his backpack with Jughead and goes in alone to get them some food and water and an inconspicuous handful of medical supplies – spray on band-aid and aspirin, anything else he doesn’t dare –, the collar of his jacket pulled up and his cap tilted low to keep most of his face and especially his hair hidden.

After a short break to eat and apply the spray-on band-aid to Jughead’s brand in a poor and lacking imitation of first aid they move on. Archie tries to get Jughead to take some of the aspirin, but he refuses, says it’ll make him drowsy and at least the pain keeps him awake and going. The brand looks awful and Archie contemplates arguing with him, but in the end he decides to save his breath, trusting Jughead to make that decision for himself.

They keep going until eventually, around noon, Jughead can’t anymore. The highway they’re following isn’t a particularly busy one and Archie braves the risk of trying to hitch a ride. A trucker from Iowa pulls over for them, just passing through, and almost as soon as they’ve climbed into the driver’s cabin, Jughead practically passes out against Archie’s shoulder, face pressed into the crook of Archie’s neck and Archie wraps a careful arm around him to keep him from slipping. Jughead feels frail against his side and Archie tries not to linger on how very afraid he still is.

The trucker, Bert he says his name is, eyes Jughead’s face and the bruises on it curiously, but doesn’t ask any question and for that Archie is endlessly grateful. He makes up a story anyway, just to ease his own mind, about how they’re high school graduates backpacking through the country and they got jumped a couple of towns over by a gaggle of drunks outside a biker bar and now all of their money is gone and they’re just trying to get back to civilization. Bert nods along, like maybe he believes Archie’s story or maybe he doesn’t. He’s the quiet type, it turns out. But he lets them ride along for the rest of the day and most of the night. Pays for their dinner too before he leaves them behind at another gas station because his route is taking him in a direction that doesn’t match up with theirs anymore.

~*~*~

All in all it takes them three days to get to Toledo. Three days of sticking to the shadows, trying their best not to draw attention, of looking over their shoulders and flinching at every passing car that looks even remotely similar to Hiram’s sleek, black limousine.

They hitch a couple more rides, taking the risk even if Archie would rather avoid it, but Jughead is growing weaker and paler except for the color high on his cheeks, an unhealthy sheen of sweat covering his drawn face most of the time, eyes bright as the strength drains out of him the longer they’re on the run. Archie tries to get Jughead to let him have another look at the brand, to see if they need to stop for more medical supplies before they get to Toledo, but Jughead just keeps brushing him off, says they’ll take care of anything like that once they get there and Archie gives in eventually. Archie himself is running purely on fumes, pushing himself to keep on going, not sure how much longer he can hold out. A couple of miles outside of Toledo they sneak onto a freight train to cover the rest of the way and then slip back off at the station.

Even after arriving at their destination it takes them a while of carefully asking around until they figure out where they have to go, Archie leaving Jughead behind in an alley with his pack, hidden away as he talks to people on the street, less conspicuous if he’s alone and a good excuse to let Jughead rest for a little while. The address Jughead has for his mom isn’t up to date anymore and it turns out she’s running a junkyard at the outskirts of town now.

When, finally, the gate with the bold, colorful letters spelling ‘Jones Yard’ tacked onto it rises up before them, the relief that washes over Archie is so powerful he wants to sob with it. Jughead sighs and sags against Archie’s side as Archie helps him step up to the gate. A kid in overalls, barely older than them sees them and walks over, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

Archie knows they look bad, despite how they’ve been trying, but the bruises on Jughead’s face and neck have just barely started to fade, cuts scabbed over and ugly looking and they both look scruffy and tired, the dust of the road coating their skin and smudging their clothes.

“Whose there?” The kid asks and Jughead straightens himself up with a groan, jaw-muscles twitching as he struggles to shrug his jacket off his shoulder and roll up the left sleeve of his t-shirt to expose the serpent tattoo.

“We’re looking for Gladys Jones.” He says thickly and Archie has to wrap an arm around his waist to steady him. “We’re family.”

“I know that voice!” A girl about twelve years old with long blond braids that Archie vaguely remembers but on a kid much younger, following Jughead around like a cute but annoying little shadow, rolls out form under a car, an excited grin plastered to her face. “Jughead!” She beams, wiping her hands on her oil-stained coveralls and in a much harsher tone to the kid at the fence, “You heard him! Open the gate!”

Hinges creaking as it swings open the gate is pulled wide to make room for the two of them. At his side Archie can feel Jughead steel himself, drawing upright, squaring his shoulders and lifting his chin as he puts a smile on his face that looks strained even from Archie’s sideways angle. As soon as they step through, Jellybean rushes at them in an excited blur of yellow and gray, the red headband she’s wearing adding a brighter burst of color to the mix.

Jughead lets go of Archie in favor of wrapping his arms around his little sister, hugging her almost as tight as she’s clinging to him, face tilting down to bury his nose in her hair. But when she presses against his hip, Jughead draws in a sharp breath and jerks back, hand pressing to the edges of the hidden wound as he bends forward slightly, one of his hands coming to rest on Jellybean’s shoulder to steady himself.

Jellybean’s eyes go wide as she really looks at him for the first time. “What happened to you?” She blurts out, worry blotting out the joy on her face, eyes flying over to Archie and then back to Jughead.

“It’s not that bad.” Jughead presses out through clenched teeth before Archie has a chance to say anything. “Can you just get mom and tell her we’re here?”

“Sure!” She says hurriedly, eyes wide as she rushes off deeper into the junkyard’s bowels. Leaving them alone with the kid who’d opened the gate for them, still unsure of their presence, judging by the distrustful glances he keeps shooting their way.

Jughead looks bad, the color draining from his face as he glances around, bowing forward further until he’s propping himself up with a hand on his knee and Archie steps up to him so that he can place a steadying hand on the small of his back. Jughead grabs on to the hem of Archie’s coat, eyes closing and throat moving as he swallows.

“I’m fine. I just need to sit down for a moment, I think.” He says, sounding frail and Archie glances around hurriedly until his eyes fall onto a couple of tires stacked atop one another just a few steps away. Archie helps him walk over and sink down onto the worn rubber and Jughead sags against the rusting bones of the car at his back, head tilted up and eyes closed, and Archie keeps a careful hand on his shoulder just to make sure he doesn’t list to the side and slip off of his perch.

_None of this is ever going to be OK again_ , Archie thinks, the notion rising up out of no-where, his tired mind too worn out to fight it and the truth of it makes him want to scream. He just barely manages to hold it in,  fingers tightening on Jughead’s shoulder.

A  woman, tall and lean, with long, dark and wavy hair  that reminds Archie strongly of Jughead’s  falling over her shoulders, wearing wielder’s gloves and a coverall, rounds a stack of car carcasses, followed closely by Jellybean and it takes a second for Archie to recognize her as Jughead’s mom. It’s kind of embarrassing how long it’s been since last Archie saw her. Years. And in all that time, he’d never wondered, never even tried to put together the pieces, to realize that she’d up and left Jughead behind with a dad spiraling into alcoholism, life at home getting so bad Jughead thought being homeless would be better than going back there. Just another example of how Archie had failed Jughead, had failed their friendship  and how Jughead had never once looked at him accusingly for it.

G ladys’ gaze skips over Archie and right to Jughead, and the frown on her face deepens as she hurries over, pealing off her gloves and tossing them aside on the way. “Jug gy !”, she exclaims, crouching down in front of him so she can cradle his face in her hands, then pulls them back, startled, only to press the back of one of her palms to Jughead’s forehead. “What are you doing here? What happened? You’re burning up,  sweety .”

“We really need your help, Mrs Jones.” Archie rushes out, so desperate to make things better somehow. “Jug’s hurt. I’ll explain everything later, I swear, but can you help him?”

Gladys looks up at Archie like she’s just now registering that he’s there. “Archie Andrews? Is that you? You better have a damn good explanation for all this, or I swear I’ll start breaking bones. But first you tell me exactly what’s wrong.”

“It’s his hip, I think.” Archie says, thumb rubbing nervous circles into Jughead’s shoulder through his t-shirt where his jacket is still hanging low on his arm on the one side.

“Let me see.” Gladys orders, intent eyes turning back to Jughead.

“It’s not as bad as it looks.” Jughead tries, but falls plenty short of sounding convincing as he gingerly lifts the hem of his shirt to reveal the brand. 

Both Gladys and Archie suck in a breath at the sight, Jellybean’s view blocked mostly by Gladys’ back. It looks a lot worse than it had, when Archie’d seen it last and it dawns on him now why Jughead had refused to show it to him again. If Archie’d known it was this bad, he’d have made them stop and do something about it, regardless of how risky that might have been. The brand is bright red and swollen, the color spreading outwards in a thin latticework that looks like veins almost, the part that forms the symbol sticky and grayish and Archie thinks the wound is probably infected. As if the fever hadn’t been clue enough, Archie thinks, and he’s just so fucking tired, he doesn’t have the energy to figure out what to do now.

Luckily, Gladys is plenty capable.

“Is that a brand?” She asks, incredulous, but shakes her head and pulls herself together a moment later. “Never mind, you’ll explain all of this later. Right now we need to get you to my office. I’ve got a first aid kit there. Up.”

Jughead groans as she pulls him to his feet, lets himself be moved along with Gladys on one side and Archie on his other.

Gladys’ ‘office’ turns out to be more like a living space, cots built up around the room, shelves filled with clutter. Archie thinks he spots a mini fridge and a set of portable burners in one corner, but he doesn’t really have the time to look around. He helps Gladys lower Jughead onto one of the cots and she hurries over to her desk, pulls out the first aid ki t and brings it over with her, snapping open the lid  of the box  as she walks.  She turns towards the kid from before, who’d followed them together with Jellybean. “Tell Tailpipe to run over to the pharmacy and get some antibiotics. And tell him to hurry  or I’ll pull out his damn teeth .”

The kid nods and rushes off as Gladys begins to spread out gauze, disinfectant, bandages and latex gloves, Jellybean hovering near the foot of the cot, mouth pressed into a thin line and brows furrowed in a frown, and Archie just can’t anymore.

“I’m sorry, do you have a bathroom somewhere around here?” He manages and Gladys glances up at him for a second then points him in a general direction distractedly “right around the corner over there” before settling her attention back onto Jughead.

Jughead catches his eyes, and there’s worry there beneath the fever’s glow, a silent question that Archie ignores as he turns and heads towards where Gladys indicated.

As soon as the door closes and locks behind him Archie doubles over the toilet and retches, heaves until long after his stomach’s empty and all that comes up is acid that burns his tongue and sears up his throat. When his stomach finally stops spasming, he sinks to the grimy tiles, draws his knees up and presses his face against them, arms wrapping around his head like, if he can just make himself small enough, he’ll be able to disappear, to fade out into nothing. He sits there for a long time, sobbing into his dusty jeans, chest heaving with the force of it, too tired to care, too worn and frayed to try and stop himself.

What Hiram did –

A ll Archie can hear over the sound of his own labored breathing as those two days replay themselves in his head like a show of horrors he’ll never be able to escape is Hiram’s voice whispering into his ear, “This is all your fault.”.

~* ~*~

Eventually, exhaustion wins out, draining the onslaught of emotion out of him and leaving behind a hollow sort of numbness, his insides raw and tender like his chest is an open wound and one wrong touch will send him spiraling again. There’s a knock on the door, soft and careful and Gladys’ voice drifts in through the rusting metal.

“Are you OK in there, carrot top?”

Inexplicably, the nick name makes Archie laugh and he has to force himself to stop before it turns into something hysterical.

“Yeah.” He says, voice uncomfortably throaty as he wipes the wetness off his face and tries to pull himself back together. “I’ll be out in a sec.”

Pulling in a couple of deep breaths and reaching for that mantle of calm he can wrap himself up in, Archie grabs hold of the sink and pulls himself up onto his feet. A look in the mirror tells him that trying to hide the fact that he was just bawling his eyes out is a hopeless endeavor, but he just sighs as his reflection looks back at him like he’s a stranger, too tired to make himself care.

Gladys is still there when he pulls open the door, arms crossed over her chest and face grim, but her expression softens a little when she looks at him.

“How’s Jughead.” Archie asks, doing his best to make his voice cooperate, clearing his throat to get rid of the lump there.

“Sleeping. He refused to lie down before I promised I’d make sure you’re alright.” She says, then, “You look like shit.”

“Yeah.” Is all Archie can come up with, throat feeling tight again.

“Come on.” Gladys drops a hand onto his shoulder and uses it to steer him along as she walks. “Lets get some food into you. Then you’re going to tell me exactly what is going on. And it better be damn good. I saw his wrists, too. Whoever did that to him is going to suffer, I can promise you that much.”

~* ~*~

Archie hardly registers the taste of the sandwich he stuffs into his mouth, eating more a mechanical series of motions, something he needs to do to keep himself going, rather than something to be enjoyed.

When he’s done, he tells Gladys everything he can think of, too tired to filter properly and it feels surreal, recounting the events that got them here, the whole story, twisted and convoluted and improbable as it is and it takes what feels like a very long time. The part where it gets hard is when he comes to Hiram and the farm and he tries to be as succinct and clinical about it as he can. That part is also the only one where he leaves something out. Archie just can’t bring himself to tell Gladys about Augustine, doesn’t have it in him to make himself say it and he doesn’t think Jughead would ever forgive him, if he did. Jug is probably already going to be mad at him for saying too much.

Gladys takes it all in, her face a hard, unreadable mask, hands folded in front of her mouth as she listens to Archie talk.

When he’s finally finished, words petering out into a heavy sort of silence, Gladys shakes her head like she’s having trouble believing all of it. It’ll probably take her a moment to digest, Archie thinks. She shakes it off quickly enough, though, face hard as she gets up and motions for Archie to follow her.

“You need to get some sleep, kid. We’ll figure out the rest tomorrow.”

Archie really can’t argue with that. He’s practically dead on his feet as he trudges after her back to the former office space they took Jughead to. All he wants is to close his eyes and not think of anything for a good long while.

Before they round the corner to the office though, Gladys stops and turns around, startles Archie as she reaches for his arms, pulling up the sleeves of his jacket to expose the chafing and the bruises on his wrists. It’s healing, but it still doesn’t look great and Archie could really do without the reminder. He tries to pull away form her, but her grip stays firm, though not in a way meant to hurt.

“Listen, kid.” She starts, tilting her head into his line of sight until he has no choice but to meet her gaze. “You went through a really rough deal. I know how easy it is to blame yourself for what happened, but I don’t think you should. From what I’ve seen, Juggy sure as Hell doesn’t. So save the moping for some other time. You gotta keep your head up right now.”

Archie can feels his expression crumbling, eyes stinging like he hasn’t fucking cried enough already and he has to take a couple deep breaths to ward it off, to push the lump in his throat back down into his chest where it’s still painful but easier to take. He makes himself nod and that’s enough for Gladys to let go of him and start walking again. Archie doesn’t even know how to begin to sort through this mess.

The office is dark aside form the bit of light that spills in from the hallway and through the window high up on one wall, but dusk is already creeping in and it won’t be long until that light fades out completely. There’s a cot right next to the one on which Jughead is sleeping, completely dead to the world, his face more relaxed than Archie’s seen it in over three weeks. The painkillers and antibiotics doing their work he thinks.

It makes Archie want to reach out and touch, brush the strands of Jughead’s fringe away from his forehead, see if his skin is still hot to the touch,  make sure he’s still solid and real . But  Archie  doesn’t, because the longer he looks at Jughead the more insistent the memories pushing at the back of his mind become, the more the peaceful face threatens to get over-layered with a grimace,  cheeks  wet and puffy with tears, eyes pleading,  voices rising up to go along with the imagery and Archie just can’t fucking take it. 

He  snaps his gaze away and  sinks down onto the cot  next to Jughead’s , just barely bothering to pull off his shoes and ignoring the rest of his clothes completely in favor of dropping down onto the pillow and pulling the blanket over his shoulders, every bone in is body heavy like lead. 

Before he can pass out, though, he lifts his head up one more time. “I’m sorry for causing this much trouble, Mrs Jones. Sorry we dragged you into this. We didn’t know where else to go.”

In the semi-dark, Gladys’ face falls, just for a moment and her voice sounds rough when she answers. “That’s the same thing Jug said before he passed out on me.” She says, a self-deprecating smile pulling at one corner of her mouth. “Get some sleep, sweety.”

With that she turns to leave and with nothing left to keep Archie going, he drops off into a deep, dreamless pit of nothing.

~*~*~

Archie sleeps until well into the next day. When he groggily opens his eyes, the light streaming in through the window is bright and strong and he groans at the sting of it. For a moment, he’s disoriented and that brings a surge of panic with it. The terrible thought that escaping was just a fever dream and he’s still tied up in that cellar with Jughead, waiting for Hiram to come for them again with a new set of horrors in his repertoire. But it only lasts for a moment, before his brain catches on and he sinks back into the pillows sighing tiredly, fatigue overpowering the relief.

He feels a little like he got run over by a truck, mouth dry, muscles sore and stiff and and aching, his head stuffed full of wet cotton, making it hard to think. Struggling to push himself up into a sitting position he glances over to where Jughead is still dead to the world on his own cot. Jug looks like he didn’t move all night, still passed out the same way he was before Archie fell asleep and Archie heaves himself onto his feet and trudges over, dropping to his knees on the rough cement floor near Jughead’s shoulders.

He folds his arms over the naked foam that constitutes as a mattress and lets his head drop down to rest against his forearms. For a while, all he does is sit there and listen to Jughead’s deep, even breathing, to the way he sighs in his sleep every now and again, soaking up the warmth he radiates, and it helps calm Archie down more, helps ease that horrible ache in his chest at least a little.

Eventually, though, Jughead pulls in a deeper breath, body going rigid as he snaps awake.

“Hey.” Archie lifts his head and puts a careful hand on Jughead’s shoulder, trying to keep him from freaking out. Jughead’s gaze flits over the room and then lands on Archie and he groans, head dropping back onto his pillow and one hand coming up to rub at his eyes.

“Fuck.” Jughead curses quietly and Archie squeezes his shoulder, thumb rubbing circles over the soft fabric of his t-shirt near his collarbone.

“Yeah.” Archie says, sympathetic. “How’re you feeling?”

Jughead groans again as he tries to sit up and Archie helps him along a little, until Jughead can push away the blankets and gingerly lift up the hem of his shirt. A flash of white bandages wrapping around his hips over a thick gauze pad covering the brand comes into view and Jughead traces the edges of it with the tip of one finger, then hisses in a breath and pulls his had away again, letting his t-shirt slide back down to cover it.

“Better, I think.” Jughead sighs, voice rough with sleep and he clears his throat a little. He still looks about as tired as Archie feels, but the color of his face seems healthier and the lines of tension there have been softened somewhat. “There any water around here?”

“Uhm.” Archie scans the room and there actually is, a full glass sitting on an otherwise empty shelf near the head of Jughead’s bunk. Archie reaches out to fetch it and there’s a note with the words ‘take in the morning’ scribbled onto it, pinned to the shelf by the glass, and a couple of pills sitting on the note, so Archie grabs those too.

“I think your mom left those for you.” Archie says and hands both the pills and the glass off to Jughead.

Jug eyes the pills suspiciously for a moment, then shrugs his shoulders and scrunches up his nose as he pops them into his mouth and uses the water to wash them down. After finishing half of it, Jughead offers the glass to Archie, one eyebrow raised in question and Archie can’t help the small smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth as he takes it and finishes it off.

Seeing Jug like this reminds Archie of the night after the riots, of the hospital and of how horrible everything had felt back then. But also of the relief of knowing that he could have lost Jughead for good, but he hadn’t and that the worst of it was over. Archie doesn’t know if that last part is true for them now, it probably won’t be, not until Hiram is gone, but maybe they’ll get a break from the constant fear that follows them wherever they go, even just for a little while.

And Jughead _is_ going to heal, Archie thinks. Or at least his body will. A flash of a memory jumps up unbidden, of Augustine’s hand wrapped around the fragile stretch of Jughead’s neck, of his fingers shoved into Jughead’s mouth and Archie has to close his eyes and shake his head to dislodge the image, nausea threatening to make him chuck up the water he just had.

When he opens his eyes, the look on Jughead’s face makes his chest feel tight all over again. Jughead looks so sad, young and unguarded and lost, like he doesn’t know what to do and Archie just can’t help himself. He sets the glass on the floor and lifts his hands to cradle Jughead’s jaw as carefully as he can, then, Jughead’s eyes following him, mouth falling open slightly and breath held, Archie leans forward and presses their lips together. The kiss is soft and sweet, a stark contrast to any of the ones before, when Archie had just been trying to fill that void that sat where his heart should be, too worked up to be gentle, and after a second of shock, Jughead melts into Archie, sighing shakily against Archie’s mouth.

Jughead’s lips are full and soft and pliable and Jughead lets Archie move him the way Archie wants, no resistance whatsoever, nothing but trust and Archie has to pull away, eyes screwed shut at the sudden weight on his chest. He presses his forehead against Jug’s, eyes stinging dangerously as he tries to catch his breath, then pulls back and wipes at his face to get rid of the wetness there.

“Arch...” Jughead looks at Archie like he’s in pain, scared and unsure, like he’s afraid Archie is going to pull away and turn his back on him again, the way he did so many times before and it makes Archie rub at his eyes again, angry at himself most of all.

“I’m gonna go find your mom. Maybe see about breakfast or something.” Archie says, pushing himself up onto his feet and Jughead’s face begins to fall like this is the rejection he’s been afraid of, so Archie reaches out a hand and adds. “Wanna wait here or come with?”

Jughead huffs out a quiet, shaky breath, relief softening his features. “I’m coming with.” He says and takes Archie’s offered hand, lets Archie pull him to his feet easily.

~*~*~

Jug still moves slowly, gingerly one hand perpetually hovering near his hip and the other on Archie’s shoulder, but rest and medication really did make a difference, Archie thinks, even if it’s just that the fever went down and Jughead’s eyes look much clearer than they had.

They find Jellybean first and her face lights up, when she sees them, grin almost blinding. So carefree in her youthfulness, and it makes her look so much like the Jughead Archie remembers form their shared childhood, back when not getting caught while sneaking off to their shared tree house in the middle of the night was still their biggest worry, that it’s almost hard to look at.

Jellybean, or ‘JB’, as she corrects Jughead with no small amount of grumbling, leads them to where Gladys is working. Jughead’s mom props up her welder's mask and lays aside her tools as soon as she sees them.

“Jug, you’re up.” She says, pulling him into a hug. Jughead’s hand on Archie’s shoulder tightens and Archie can see him grimace, but Jug lets her anyway. “How’re you feeling, kid? God, you’re all skin and bones. Have you been eating enough to compensate for that growth spurt?”

Jughead huffs out a laugh and pulls a face. “I’m feeling better. Sorry about yesterday, about barging in like that.”

“Don’t be stupid.” Gladys shoves good-naturedly at Jughead’s shoulder and Archie tightens his arm around Jughead’s waist a little to make sure he doesn’t stumble. “Why didn’t you call me from the road? I could have sent someone to pick you up. It must have been Hell making your way up here hurt like that and with Hiram on your tail. If I ever get my hands on that short stack he’ll be the one begging for a quick death, I swear. Giving my boy a fucking brand.”

Jughead’s eyes shift to the side and he darts out his tongue to wet his bottom lip, voice quiet as he says, “Last time I called you said I couldn’t come.”

And, yeah. Archie hadn’t even thought of calling Mrs Jones ahead of time, but Jughead would have. And it reminds Archie that there’s a whole lot of not so great history between the two of them.

“Those were different times.” Gladys says, just as quiet, but then she catches herself and her boisterous demeanor returns as she lifts her arms to indicate the junkyard. “But I finally got my GEDs and I built up this place. I’m a legitimate businesswoman now.”

As if on queue the kid from yesterday rounds a stack of rusting cars with an armful of car radios, breaking up their conversation. “Tailpipe just came in with these. Where do you want me to put them?”

And from the way Gladys reacts it’s not that hard to guess that they probably weren’t acquired entirely legally and Archie can feel Jughead’s posture stiffen at his side. She jerks around and practically hisses at the kid. “Not now, Lugnut.”

Taken aback at Gladys’ harsh tone, Lugnut shrugs his shoulders, frowning as he turns to leave, but Gladys softens her voice as she calls after him. “Get the gang together and tell them we’re having a feast tonight. My son’s finally come home!”

With an excited exclamation of “Yeah!” Lugnut hurries off to do as she asked.

“Alright, boys.” Gladys goes on, seemingly eager to herd them back inside. “How about some breakfast, huh? You must be starving.”

~*~*~

Later that night there’s a bonfire out in the yard, all of Gladys’ posse gathered around to watch the pig that’s being roasted over the flames and have drinks as they mingle and chat. Archie can see a lot of leather jackets and jeans vests with colorful emblems imprinted on the backs and while most of the people there are kids in their late teens or early twenties, some are older, too.

It reminds Archie a lot of the Serpents back in Riverdale and he’s not really sure what to make of it.

Jughead seems happy enough to be re-united with JB, but he’s still reserved around his mom and there’s an uncomfortable tension there still. Archie doesn’t mention it, not wanting to poke the bear, thinking it’s probably best if Jughead and his mom work things out among themselves.

Jughead keeps looking better at least. They both got to shower and slip into some clean clothes and that really made a world of difference. And earlier, when Archie had watched her change Jughead’s bandages Gladys had seemed confident in her verdict that it might take some time for the brand to heal, but with the appropriate care the infection would run it’s course and be done with in a couple of days, so no need to worry about that.

Somewhere along the way, the part of Archie that had still been curled up tightly, waiting in anticipation for the other shoe to drop, for Hiram to make his next move and shatter the bit of reprieve they’d found, slowly, cautiously begins to unwind a little. He really, really wants to believe, that at least for the time being, Jughead and him are going to be safe here.

The conversation around the fire stays light for a while, most of the talking about what had happened already taken care of the night before, but eventually Gladys starts asking more questions about G&G and the involvement they suspect Hiram has in the game, its larger implications for Riverdale.

After a bit, face gone serious like she’s chewing something over in her head, Gladys sends JB off to get herself some food and then turns back to Archie and Jughead. “Look, boys. I wasn’t sure if I was gonna say anything, but we had a ‘visitor’ last night. Caught her sneaking around the yard up to no-good and took her in for a little round of Q&A.”

“What? Who was it? One of Hiram’s people?” Jughead blurts out, jerking upright in his seat and then wincing, hand coming up to press at his hip next to the wound. Archie finds his own back straightening, hands balling into fists on his thighs as he waits for Gladys to go on, a terrible sense of dread seeping right back in through the cracks.

“Relax.” Gladys goes on, hands coming up as if to placate them. “Yes, she was one of Hiram’s, but I don’t think she had a chance to contact him before we got to her. Penny Peabody, that vindictive wench. She always was good at overestimating her own talents. Thought she could snatch Archie up and surprise Hiram. But I can guarantee you that she won’t be a problem any more. Archie told me all about what she did to my kid, about that scar I saw on your shoulder. I made sure she felt real sorry for that.”

“Penny?” Jughead sounds incredulous, then that same fear that Archie’s feeling settles in on his face as he asks. “Are we – Is Archie still safe here?”

And, yeah. There it is. Even after everything Hiram did to Jug, Archie is still the person he’s more worried about. Archie knows he doesn’t deserve any of that and for a moment, he has trouble breathing right.

“For now.” Gladys says, one hand reaching out to pat Jughead’s arm reassuringly. “But I think you might have misread Hiram’s bigger plan a little, because you were so focused on Archie and on the Game. You’re not seeing what’s right in front of you.”

Brows furrowing Jughead glances back and forth between Archie and Gladys. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that, to Hiram, Archie might not be the actual grand prize.” Gladys continues. “Sure he’s out for revenge and he’s not gonna pass it up if he gets the chance, but there’s something much bigger at stake here. Riverdale. That’s what he really wants. And he made sure to drive Archie and you as far away as he could to get you off the chessboard while he makes his move.”

Jughead huffs out breath, the frown on his face deepening as he works things out. “So it’s not about ascending to the kingdom, it’s about claiming the kingdom. And if Hiram Lodge really is the Gargoyle King, like we thought, then that means he’s responsible for re-introducing G&G to Riverdale and the deaths of those kids. Among plenty of other things.”

And, God knows what else Hiram has planned for Riverdale, Archie thinks, head spinning and white noise rushing through his ears, almost loud enough to drown out the conversation. If the price on Archie’s head really was just a pawn, if it really was all just part of that stupid game for Hiram…

“What do we do now, Mrs J?” Archie blurts out, desperate and reeling, trying to sort through the mess in his head somehow but coming up empty.

“I don’t know, kiddo.” Gladys sighs and sinks back into her seat. “But we’ll figure something out. For now, how about some food?”

Jughead deflates a little, a tired hand coming up to wash across his face and Archie wants to reach out so badly, wants to use the touch to steady the both of them, to make the horrible, burning fear settled deep in his gut subside, even just a little. But he doesn’t. Instead, he gets up and grabs a couple of paper plates from the stack nearby.

“I’ll get us something.” He mumbles, leaving Jughead and Gladys to stare after him.

~*~*~

Later that night, when the feast is over and all of Gladys’ gang have made their way back home, Archie lies awake in the dark, restless and unable to drift off, regardless of how tired he is. He can’t get his mind to quiet down, no matter how hard he tries, the same thoughts, the same questions just keep replaying themselves, chasing each other around in circles that lead no-where. If they left enough of a trail for Penny to track them down, that means that someone else will do the same eventually. That means that Archie is now responsible for putting Jughead’s mom and Jellybean in danger, too. If Penny had managed to hurt someone, that would have been on Archie and Archie alone and the thought twists his gut up, pulling the knot already there impossibly tighter.

It means that his only choice is to get back onto the road and keep moving until there’s no-where left to run to. Until he’s far enough out of Hiram’s reach to make Hiram give up on him, if such a place even exists. And there’s another thought there, that comes along with it, something he doesn’t want to admit to himself, even though part of him is already coming to accept that it’s true. That maybe it would be better, if he moved on alone. If he left Jughead here, with his mom, who can keep him safer than Jug would ever be on the road with Archie, Hiram always just one step behind, just one wrong turn away from catching up to them again.

As much as he hates the thought of being alone, as much as it tears him up, the longer he thinks about it the more he suspects that it would be better for everyone if he just snuck out alone tonight or tomorrow, maybe, his rucksack packed and a note tucked underneath Jughead’s pillow to let him know that it was for his own good. To let him know how grateful Archie is that Jug got him this far and that he’ll probably never be able to repay his dept to Jughead, to make up for what Archie put him through. Jug deserves to be safe. And Archie did bring all of this on himself. It was his stupidity that jump started this whole mess in the first place.

Jughead shifts on the cot next to his and a moment later Jughead’s voice drifts over to him, quiet and low in the dark, almost like they’re back in that cellar and Archie grits his teeth against the memory. “Archie? You still up?”

“Yeah.” Archie sighs and twists around until he can see Jughead’s silhouette in the pale sliver of light that falls in through the window.

There’s a pause, like Jughead is working up to saying what he wants and Archie keeps quiet, waiting for him. “We never – Do you wanna, like, talk? About – about what happened?” Jughead stutters out, like he can’t find the right words and that’s so out of character for him, for the writer and poet that he is. “Should we?”

“I don’t know, if that’s a good idea, Jug.” Archie forces himself to say, eyes screwing shut to block out as much as he can. He doesn’t think he can do it, put into words what they went through, make it more real than it already is. Give it even more power. All he wants to do is forget, make it stop hurting, although a part of himself fears that it never will and maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe he deserves the pain for what he did, for all of the selfish mistakes he made that led them here.

There’s more rustling, a quiet groan, and then the soft padding of bare feet across concrete. Archie opens his eyes to find Jughead standing at his bunk, dressed only in a white undershirt and a dark pair of sweats. The bruises on his face, his neck, his wrists are darker shadows on his skin and Archie makes himself sit up to better face him.

The moonlight just barely illuminates the messy waves of Jughead’s raven-black hair, the worried twist of his mouth, the soft, sorrowful line of his brows. Archie reaches out a hand, palm settling carefully on the slight jut of Jughead’s hip and Jughead draws in a soft breath, not trying to move away.

“I don’t – I don’t want to loose you, Archie.” Jughead’s voice is so soft Archie has to strain to hear him and his hand tightens on Jughead’s side. For a moment the irrational fear that Jughead had somehow sensed what was going through Archie’s head just a minute ago sends Archie into an almost panic, but he reels himself back in and shakes it off as nonsense. Jug feels bed-warm and alive underneath his palm, inviting, and Archie darts out his tongue to wet dry lips.

“I’m still right here.” Archie says just as softly and swings his legs over the edge and pushes to his feet, crowds into Jughead’s space until they’re only inches apart, mouths so close it feels like they’re breathing the same air. ‘What am I doing?’, the thought flickers through Archie’s head, there one moment, gone the next.

“I –“ Jughead starts, but Archie doesn’t let him finish. He leans forward and presses their mouths together, unable to resist the pull that urges him on. Jug makes a helpless little sound in the back of his throat and Archie moves his other hand up to slide into the hair at the back of Jughead’s neck, marveling at how soft it is.

In the dark, Archie takes that last half a step forward, pressing his chest against Jughead’s, pulling him in closer still and just like that morning, Jughead melts into his touch, breathing a shaky sigh against Archie’s lips. The heat of Jughead’s skin seeps right into the core of him, even through the layers of clothes separating them and Archie’s never been this acutely aware of how breakable Jughead is, of how fragile he feels pressed up against him, is heartbeat echoing against Archie’s ribs. It’s not physical, not entirely, but that doesn’t mean it’s not real.

Archie runs the tips of his fingers up the stretch of Jughead’s neck, along the curve of his jaw and Jughead’s hands fly up to Archie’s back to tangle in the fabric of his t-shirt, clutching at him, like maybe Jughead’s not sure he’s actually allowed to touch. Archie darts his tongue out to swipe across Jughead’s bottom lip and Jughead draws in a sharp breath through his nose before parting his lips and letting Archie in. The glide of his tongue against Jughead’s is hot and heady, intimate, and Archie finds himself wanting more, pushing deeper and Jughead’s mouth opens wider to accommodate him, meeting Archie’s tongue with his own hesitantly, carefully.

Archie’s palms move up to Jughead’s bare shoulders, fingers catching on the little bumps in the skin, the textured scar where Jug’s first Serpent tattoo used to be on the left side and the soft rise of the new one on the right. He slides his palms down to Jughead’s bent elbows and pulls until Jughead gets what he wants and lets go of his t-shirt, drawing in an unsteady breath as Archie brings Jughead’s arms up between their chests, his fingers circling Jughead’s wrists, thumbs tracing the abrasions there ever so softly.

Then Archie turns Jughead’s palms around until Archie can press them to his pecks, flattening them against his chest as ARchie covers them with his own hands. It’s as clear an invitation as Archie can give and Jughead pulls away from the kiss, shiny mouth twisted and brows drawn together, eyes stormy and breath hitching in the dark as his hands twitch against Archie, fingers digging involuntarily into Archie’s ribs.

It’s the way he should have done this in the first place, Archie thinks with a horrible pang of guilt and regret and he leans in to follow Jughead’s mouth, capture his lips again, to cover it up. He still loves Ronnie, can’t imagine a world in which he doesn’t, misses her so much it hurts, but this is _Jug_ and that makes it OK somehow. He doesn’t know if Ronnie would understand, or if she’d hate him even more, if she knew, but, even though that thought hurts like a bitch, it doesn’t stop him. He needs this in a visceral kind of way. Needs to see, to feel, for himself that Jug is still whole, still there.

Archie lets go of Jughead’s fingers so that he can circle his arms around Jughead, run his hands down Jughead’s back, tracing the bumps of his spine as he goes, then tug at Jug’s wife beater until the hem comes loose from his pants and Archie can slip the tips of his fingers underneath. Jughead shudders against him, his palms pressing flat against Archie’s chest, elegant fingers tracing the swell of Archie’s muscles so carefully it’s almost ticklish and Archie sighs into the kiss.

Archie grabs hold of the hem of Jughead’s undershirt and lifts it up until he has to break the kiss so that he can pull it over Jug’s head and down his arms. Even dipped in shadow Jughead looks insecure, the bandage on his hips a stark white against his skin, hands twitching at his sides like he doesn’t know whether or not to try and cover himself up. So Archie yanks his own shirt over his head and off, leaving himself just as exposed, evening out the playing field and Jughead relaxes in fractions, eyes taking in Archie’s chest, his shoulders, his stomach, the darker trail of hair that dips below the waistband of his sweats, Jughead’s kiss-swollen mouth falling open slightly.

The sight is so enticing that Archie can’t help but surge back in hungrily and they both gasp as their chests press together, the slide of naked skin on skin electric. Archie wraps his arms around Jughead’s lither frame and uses his hold to turn Jughead and slowly walk him back until Jughead’s legs bump against the metal of Archie’s cot and Archie can carefully lower him down onto it, the same move he’d used on Ronnie so many times before and the circle of Jughead’s arms around Archie’s shoulders tightening as Archie holds his weight.

Archie follows Jug down, climbing onto the cot with him, one of Archie’s knees slipping in between Jughead’s and coming to rest there, Archie hovering above Jughead just so, holding himself up with one hand on each side of Jughead’s face.

Jughead freezes underneath him, muscles going rigid and eyes screwing shut as his breathing loses its rhythm, hands digging into Archie’s shoulders almost painfully and Archie goes completely still above him. The panicked thought that he went too far, that something he did is calling back the memory of what, of what Augustine – and just like that it all comes rushing back, vivid and stark and much too clear, a knife twisting in Archie’s gut. Jughead’s face, the sounds he’d made, the way Augustine had _hurt_ him just to make a point, the way Archie hadn’t been able to do a thing to stop him. The wild thought that it might as well have been Archie himself doing it for all the difference it made bubbles up, that he’s here hurting Jughead again, pushing too far for the same selfish reasons as before, that no-one will ever be able to erase what happened, Jug will carry that scar, those _scars_ with him for the rest of his life.

And, chief amongst all of that, the horrible, stomach churning memory of how he’d gotten hard watching it happen, how his body had reacted to the way Augustine had touched Jughead and how Archie of all people has the least right to touch Jughead now. That Archie’s hands on him are making it worse, are putting new stains, new smudges of filth there instead of washing old ones away.

But then Jughead’s eyes fly open, full of angry determination, his bottom lip trembling ever so slightly as he blows out a breath and uses his grip on Archie’s shoulders to pull him down until Archie’s body slots against his, covering him like a blanket. Too shook up to resist, Archie just barely remembers to keep his weight off of Jughead’s left hip, before Jug is kissing him again, shaking with some sort of invisible strain, but fighting through it, showing Archie what he wants with his actions instead of his words.

The inside of Archie’s chest feels raw and tender and he makes a frantic sound against Jughead’s mouth, shoves his thigh against Jughead’s crotch and makes him moan into the kiss as Archie finds the hard, hot line of Jughead’s dick tenting his sweats, Jughead’s body still responding to Archie’s touch, Archie’s own growing erection just inches away, pressed against Jughead’s hip. Archie tries as hard as he can to push away the memories, to move past them and to loose himself in what he’s feeling here and now instead. If Jug can push through it, then Archie owes him that much at least.

He tries to anchor himself with the feeling of Jughead’s fingers digging into the muscles of his shoulders, the rapid rise and fall of Jughead’s chest against Archie’s, the thrum of Jughead’s heartbeat right underneath, like a hidden current, the wet-hot, silky-smooth slide of their mouths, their tongues.

Allowing his hands to wander, Archie moves them along Jughead’s sides, enjoys the way he can feel Jughead shiver under his touch, ticklish, but arching into him anyway, trying to get closer. And Archie can hardly wrap his mind around how much trust Jughead has for him still. It’s heady and dizzying, a rush of blood and adrenaline in both directions, up to his head and down to his crotch and he undulates his hips against Jughead’s, rubbing their dicks together through four layers of cloth and punching a moan out of Jughead, answering it with his own, sparks flying up his spine.

Archie knows he deserves none of it, but right now, he just doesn’t care.

Jughead’s hands become restless, brushing over Archie’s arms, along his back, fingers digging into the muscles there with every rolling motion of Archie’s hips, Jughead’s raising up to meet him, palms brushing along Archie’s spine and boldly down to his ass, using his grip to spur Archie on. Moist puffs of air against Archie’s kiss-swollen lips as Jughead pants for breath and Jughead is so fucking hot underneath him. Archie’s not sure if it’s the fever flaring up again or if the fire burning beneath his skin is entirely due to what they’re doing, to what Archie’s doing to him.

The sparks flaring up Archie’s spine are an electric flow rising in intensity and Archie wants more so badly he’s shaking with it. He hooks his thumbs into the waistband of Jughead’s sweats and boxers and lifts his hips up so he can shove them down far enough for Jug’s dick to spring free, bobbing almost comically before it comes to rest, curving up towards his belly button, the head puffy and swollen and glistening with pre-come.

Jug makes a strained sound in the back of his throat and pulls away from the kiss so that he can look down between them, see himself exposed and needy and his mouth falls open to suck in a breath, a groan following after when he sees Archie spit into his palm and reach down between them. Archie wraps his hand around Jughead’s dick and squeezes, twists his hand to spread around his saliva, mixing it up with the pre-come already there to make the slide easy. Jughead tips his head back against the pillow and screws his eyes shut, the muscles in his neck working and his teeth flash white in the dark as he bites at his lower lip, stifling the whine rising up in his throat.

Archie’s never touched Jughead like this, no layers between them to dull down the feel of it and Jug is hot and firm and silky smooth in his hand and Archie can feel him twitch in his grip as he jerks him off slowly. Jug keeps stifling these helpless little moans, elegant hands clutching at the back of Archie’s neck, his side, and Archie can’t help but want to hear more. So he moves his free hand up, draws the tips of his fingers across Jughead’s bottom lip, soft an full, presses down and pulls slow and careful until it slips out form between Jughead’s teeth and Archie can guide his mouth open. A strangled ‘ah’ falls form Jughead’s lips, brows twisting and a dark blush painted across his cheeks as he gives in to Archie’s touch.

‘God, that’s hot.’, Archie thinks wildly, head spinning as he pants, feeling like the air’s too thin and he pauses in touching Jughead just long enough to pull down his own pants and free his painfully hard dick, the cool air a shock against his burning skin. He shuffles around, wedges his other knee in between Jughead’s thighs, uses his hands to open Jughead’s legs wider for him, make Jug raise his knees until Archie can sink down again, hips slotting together perfectly.

They groan simultaneously as their dicks slide together against Jughead’s stomach, the glide wet and easy and Archie reaches between then again to wrap a hand around the both of them. He sets an urgent rhythm with his fist, thrusts his hips in a counter rhythm, loves the way it feels, the way Jughead moans every time the head of Archie’s dick slips past and catches at Jughead’s. Loves the way Jughead’s thighs clench against Archie’s hips, shaking as Jughead gets closer, Archie right there with him.

Head shifting from side to side on the pillow, hair a glorious mess, Jug shoves one of his own hands down between them. Elegant fingers, surprisingly strong, wrap around Archie’s, making him tighten his grip and it’s enough to punch the orgasm right out of him. Shooting ropes of sticky white all across Jughead’s heaving stomach and chest, Archie speeds up his movements, frantic, until Jughead makes a breathy little sound that goes straight to Archie’s pulsing dick and comes, too, body going rigid underneath him as Jughead shudders through it, Jug’s come mixing with Archie’s.

Archie just barely manages not to collapse on top of Jughead, letting his weight can’t to the left instead and landing on his side on the cot, almost falling off in the process, where the frame isn’t really wide enough to accommodate two people, but Jughead’s hand on his shoulder saves him.

They stare at each other for a second, startled, then both of them burst out laughing, Jughead letting go of Archie and sinking back onto the pillow so that he can catch his breath. Archie feels relaxed and happy, light, like he’s glowing from the inside, slowly coming down from his high, like it used to be with Ronnie. Next to him, basking in the afterglow, the lines on Jughead’s face have softened and he looks young and open, guard completely down for once and Archie can’t help himself. He reaches out a palm to cradle Jughead’s cheek with it, steers Jughead’s face towards him and leans in to kiss him again, soft and sweet and Jug sighs against his lips, relaxing further.

Archie’s hand slides down his neck, his chest, down to Jug’s stomach, where his fingers slip through the sticky mess they both left there and Archie screws up his face and pulls away.

“Give me a sec.” He says and climbs off the cot, legs still a bit wobbly as he pulls up his sweats and tucks himself back in before quietly heading off to the bathroom. Archie takes a moment to wash his hands and clean himself up, to catch his breath as he eyes himself in the mirror, his reflection strange to him as the happy glow slowly wears off. Shaking his head at himself, Archie grabs a couple of paper towels and heads back out.

Jughead opens his eyes, when Archie steps up to the bunk, pushes up onto his elbows and takes the paper towels Archie hands him, uses them to wipe at the mess on his stomach, pulling a face. He looks tired and Archie can see that same uncertainty, that same worry, as before creep back into his eyes as he looks up at Archie from underneath his bangs, like he’s afraid of what’s going to happen next and it seems like there are some things, a lot of things, that just don’t change that easily, Archie thinks, a little disheartened.

“Are we OK?” Jughead asks, voice low and Archie carefully pries the used up wads of paper out of his grip before taking Jughead’s hand in his, bringing it up to his mouth to plant a tender kiss onto his knuckles. Jughead goes red-faced at the gesture and turns his head away quickly, trying to hide behind the wave of his hair.

“Yeah.” Archie says, sad and plenty tired himself, the knot in his stomach reforming bit by bit. “You can sleep on my bunk, if you wanna. I’ll just take yours.”

“You sure?” Jug asks quietly, still refusing to meet Archie’s eyes and Archie lays Jug’s palm down onto the covers gingerly before letting go of it.

“Yeah.” He repeats, feeling a little dumb. He wants to climb onto the bunk behind Jug, wrap his arms around him, bury his nose in Jug’s hair and fall asleep listening to him breath. Wants to figure out how they fit together like that, where Jug’s different from Ronnie and where he’s the same. But the bunk’s too small for that to work and Archie’s too tired to make that much of an effort. “Do you want your shirt?” He asks instead, bending down to pick up the heap of white cloth on the floor, standing out starkly in the pale moonlight, gathers up the darker bundle of his own t-shirt, too.

“Thanks.” Jug takes the proffered piece of clothing from him and heaves himself into a sitting position with a quiet groan so that he can pull it over his head and fall back onto the pillow with a soft ‘oompf’ right after. Eyes slipping closed as he sighs, not even bothering to pull out the blanket form under him.

There’s a couple of spare ones sitting on a shelf to Archie’s right and Archie grabs one of them and tosses it at Jughead’s chest.

“Hey.” Jughead grumbles at him, but untangles the blanket anyway so that he can wrap himself up in it, curling up on his good side with his face pressed firmly into Archie’s pillow. It’s cute, Archie can’t help but think and he shakes his head, exasperated, as he trudges over to Jug’s bunk and gets in after pulling his own t-shirt back on.

The blanket and the pillow both smell of Jug, clean and warm and comforting and Archie ends up mimicking Jughead’s pose, inhaling deeply as his eyes slip shut. He kind of knows that this can’t last, whatever it is, but he does his best not to think, at least for a little while, at least for long enough to fall asleep.

~*~*~

A light goes on in the hallway outside the office and Archie’s wide awake even before the muted steps of someone trying to slip in unnoticed reach his ears. He freezes on his bunk eyes slitting open and heart racing as he tries to make out who it is, muscles tensing in anticipation of springing into action. His heart misses a beat, then gradually begins to slow down again as he realizes that it’s Jughead’s mom and he makes sure to close his eyes again before she can notice that he’s awake.

He can hear her wake Jughead, trying her best to be quiet about it as she tells him that they need to talk and asks him to follow her outside. Hears Jughead struggle to comply, confusion evident in his sleep-groggy voice and it’s not long until they both shuffle out of the office. Archie slowly counts to five in his head, then quietly slips out of his own bunk and walks up to the office door left ajar, equal parts curious and worried.

From his position, he can easily follow the conversation outside. A part of him feels a little bad for eavesdropping, but he pushes down on that notion quickly enough.

“Look, I didn’t wanna say anything in front of Archie and the others, but Penny had a lot to say.” Archie hears Gladys’ voice, low and sober. From his position he can see a slice of Jughead’s back and not much more. “Apparently the price on Archie’s head isn’t _just_ on him. It’s on anyone, who helps him. That means as long as you’re with him you’ve got a target on your back, too. Same goes for your friends, for Archie’s dad, if he goes back to Riverdale.”

Archie screws his eyes shut against the way his chest pulls tight at her words. The information isn’t exactly news, but it still hurts to hear her say it. At the same time, it brings back his train of thought form earlier, the worries that had kept him awake and the sinking certainty, that they can’t keep going as they were.

“We already know that.” Jughead shoots back, sounding angry, grim. “But Archie’s my _best friend._ I’m not just gonna abandon him!”

“I get that, Juggy.” Gladys tries, a hard edge to her words. “But look at what’s happened already. You almost got yourself killed. Hiram Lodge put a fucking brand on your hip. I’m sorry, but I’m not going to just let you leave with him. You’re my _son_ and it’s my responsibility to keep you safe.”

“Oh.” Jughead huffs out a derisive laugh, sounding bitter and hurt as he goes on. “Is that why you left me behind, when you took Jellybean and bailed out of Riverdale? Why you abandoned me? Archie’s the closest thing to family I’ve got left.”

And, Archie decides, that’s his cue to step in, before the whole thing escalates and Jughead says any more things he’s going to regret later.

“Your mom’s right, Jug.” He says, the lump in his chest making his heart ache as he steps out of the shadows and into the hall with them, but determined none the less. He knows what he needs to do and it’s gonna hurt like Hell, but that doesn’t make it any less necessary.

“Archie...” Jug turns around, face twisted up, sad and hurt, eyes beseeching, and it damn near breaks Archie’s heart. But he has to do this. He can’t keep putting Jughead in danger, not after what they just went through together. Archie’d rip out his lungs in a heartbeat, if that meant he’d know that Jug would be safe.

“Jug.” Archie starts, tongue darting out to wet dry lips as Jughead stares back at him, heart in his eyes. “We can’t go on like this. It’s like your mom said, you’ll never be safe as long as you’re with me. After everything that – You should go back to your life, lay low somewhere until things cool down a bit. Where ever I go next it’s gotta be alone.”

And Jughead looks so lost just then that all Archie wants to do is gather him up in a hug and, feeling fractured and selfish, that’s what he does. He pulls Jughead in, squeezes him hard in the circle of his arms and Jughead returns the gesture with just as much vehemence.

When they finally pull apart Gladys’ eyes on them are softer than they were, but there’s still the same resolve there as before. “Good.” She says. “I know a guy, who can get you to the Canadian border. I took the liberty of calling him earlier and he should be here soon.”

Jug furrows his brows at her, looking betrayed, but Archie reaches out a hand and Gladys takes it, grip firm and honest. “Thanks for everything Mrs J.”

“Sure, kid.” Her hand drops away and she turns to Jughead again. “You can stay here for as long as you want. You’ll be safe here.”

Jughead wipes at his eyes irrately, bitterness and an angry sort of determination creeping into his voice as he speaks. “I think I need to go back to Riverdale. Someone has to take Hiram Lodge down and it’s only going to happen from the inside.”

“What? No!” Archie blurts out, incredulous. “That’s way too dangerous!”

“Maybe, maybe not.” Jughead says, chin raised and meeting Archie’s eyes stubbornly. “But someone’s gotta do it and –“ Jug falters for a second, then catches himself and goes on. “And when he’s gone, you’ll be able to come back home, too. Riverdale is _our_ home and I’m not gonna let Hiram get away with what he did.”

Gladys sighs, sounding somewhat defeated. “I was afraid you’d say something like that. I can’t come back with you, not right now, but I know someone who will and who’ll make sure you’re OK as long as you’re there. He should be here in a bit, too.”

And, just like that, the discussion is over. Gladys sends both of them back into the former office to pack up their things and get ready. They do so in silence, Jughead’s mouth pressed into a grim line, refusing to look at Archie as he gets dressed and gathers his things, stuffs them into a backpack Gladys gave him to replace his navy sack. He’s still moving stiffly, slowly, not really healed, yet and Archie’s gut won’t stop twisting itself up at the thought of him going back to Riverdale to face Hiram alone.

But Gladys was right, he’d just make it worse for Jughead, for everyone, if he tried to come with. The only thing Archie can do to try and keep Jug, and everyone else, safe, is leave. Just like before. It feels a little like he’s right back where he started, when he ran from Riverdale in the first place.

~*~*~

It takes about another hour and a half, Gladys hanging around to keep them company while they wait, until there’s a knock on the door and Archie jumps up to get it. He pulls open the door and comes face to face with his dad, standing there in the sparsely lit yard with his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket and Archie’s so bewildered by the sight, the familiarity, the normalcy of it, that he just stands there staring like an idiot, mouth hanging open and mind working to make sense of it.

“Archie.” His dad says with that smile on his face, sad, fond, relieved, and that’s all it takes to unfreeze him. Archie practically lunges forward, wrapping his dad in a hug tight enough to make his ribs creak and his dad hugs him right back with the same kind of intensity.

Archie clings to him so hard it must hurt, but his dad never makes a move to push him away, just hold on for as long as Archie needs, one hand coming up to ruffle through his hair, then rest on his head. He breathes in the familiarity of home, chest aching so badly it feels like he might explode. It takes him an embarrassingly long while to get a hold of himself enough so that he feels like he can let go again without crumbling to pieces in the process. When he does, he wipes across his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket, trying to get rid of the wetness there before things get even more embarrassing.

His dad’s hands clasp his shoulders tightly as he looks Archie over. “Gladys told me what happened, when she called. How are you holding up, son?”

“I –“ Archie has to swallow around the lump in his throat, take a moment, then try again. “It was pretty bad, but we got out. We made it.”

“Yeah, you did.” His dad smiles at him, crooked and worried and pats his cheek carefully. “Why didn’t you call me? I was worried sick, you know. I could have helped you.”

Archie’s wracking his brain, trying to sort his thoughts enough so that he can try to explain how he couldn’t, how he was afraid his dad would drag him back to Riverdale kicking and screaming, how he didn’t want to put his dad in that kind of danger. But it’s Jughead’s voice that saves him for now.

“Mr. A?” Jughead sounds almost as shaken as Archie feels and Archie’s dad’s hand tightens on his shoulder before he lets go and steps around him so that he can walk up to Jug and wrap him in another one of his hugs. Briefer than with Archie, but no less heartfelt.

“Hey, there, Jug.” He says, once he’s disentangled himself form Jughead, voice just a little strained. There’s anger there, a lot of it, just beneath the surface, but not directed at either of them. “How are you?”

Jug’s hand comes up to his hip, kind of hovering there, a subconscious thing, but he catches himself and straightens his back before he answers, putting on his brave face. “Getting better. It could have been a lot worse, all things considered.”

Archie has to press his lips together and tighten his fists against the urge to yell out ‘How? How the Hell could it have been any worse than it was?’. He breathes through it and eventually the swell of emotion subsides again and he’s left feeling drained, tired. His new status quo, it seems.

“Good.” His dad pats Jug’s shoulder a little awkwardly, then takes a step back. “I’ve got your bike on my truck. And your dad should be here, too, any minute now. I hear you’re heading back to Riverdale?”

“My dad’s coming?” Jughead blurts out, eyes wide as he glances back and forth between Gladys and Archie’s dad, like he needs to hear it one more time, before he’ll believe it.

“Called him as soon as you guys showed up on my doorstep. He wanted to come right away, but I told him to wait until things were set up with Fred.” Gladys says, one corner of her mouth lifted up, making it look a little less grim. “He’s gonna make sure you get back safe and he’s gonna look out for you once you’re there. I may not be able to come with you, kid, but you sure as Hell ain’t in this alone.”

And, yeah. That definitely takes a bit of the weight off of Archie’s shoulders. He knows Jug and his propensity to get himself into trouble, to be reckless and disregardful of his own safety, but at least he’ll have someone there to look out for him. FP may not have the best track record of being a good dad, but he’s really been trying to make up for it lately and he can be pretty scary, if he wants to. Also, there are still the Serpents, diminished as they may be at the moment, but way better than nothing. Archie has to believe that Jug’s going to be OK, it’s the only way he can keep himself going.

~*~*~

FP does show up, on his Harley and in his customary leathers right as Archie and his dad are done hefting Jug’s bike off of the bed of his dad’s truck. He’s got a tortured kind of look on his face like he wouldn’t mind choking the life out of something, or someone, as he pulls Jughead into a hug that looks a lot like the one Archie and his dad’d shared. They’ve probably got a lot to talk about before they head out, it’s the first time that FP’s seeing Gladys and JB since they left, too, and Archie and his dad are about ready to hit the road.

Archie does his best to keep his good-byes with Jughead brief and as painless as possible, though he only succeeds in the first and even there only partially. Mindful of their parents watching them now, they hug, tight and brotherly, as they should, not clinging for as long as they want to, not as tender as Archie would have liked and Archie bites back on the urge to lean in and kiss him one last time.

“This isn’t ‘good-bye for good’.” Jug says, sounding a little choked up and it takes a moment before he can make himself meet Archie’s gaze, but when he does, Jug’s eyes are hard with determination and his jaw is set. “You’re coming back home. That’s a promise.”

“Yeah.” Archie says, because it’s the only thing he can think of, even though he’s not as sure as Jughead is. He clings to that thought anyway, uses it to try and make this easier. “Take care of yourself, alright?”

“You, too.”

And with that, Archie climbs into his dad’s idling truck and pulls the door closed after himself. He watches in the rear view mirror until Jughead’s silhouette disappears behind a bend and he can’t see him anymore.

The drive up to the border is a long one. It’ll give him and his dad plenty of time to talk. For now, though, Archie leans his head against the cool glass of the side window and closes his eyes, pretends like he’s resting, like he’s not just trying the best he can no to cry.

This is what he needs to do, Hiram left him no other choice. Maybe Hiram will be content in knowing that there’s finally nothing else that he can take from Archie. It’s all gone, out of his hands, miles and miles away from where he’s going.

~*~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in case you need some visuals to go with the heartbreak: [there you go](https://hope-lizzie.tumblr.com/post/181065846406/wherever-i-go-next-its-gotta-be-alone-archie)
> 
> In case you wanna chat, you can find me on [tumblr](https://yukichouji.tumblr.com/)
> 
> You're also more than welcome to leave me a prompt on tumblr, if you feel like it. Anonymous asks have been enabled. I may not be able to make any promises in regards to me being able to fill them, but a bit of extra inspiration never hurts. ~


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